


When A Good Prince Goes to War

by MeaRiver



Series: Dawn of the Lightkeepers [1]
Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Avad is gonna have a Bad Time, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Dissociation, F/M, Gen, He's the Mad Sun-King for a reason, Implied threat of rape, Jiran is a flippin monster you guys, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, We get to see the Sun-Ring! Yay?, emotional whiplash, it'll get better eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24943669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeaRiver/pseuds/MeaRiver
Summary: Prince Avad of the Carja tribe is easily the most soft-hearted of Sun-King Jiran’s three sons--little Itamen is only three, but he’s much less of a crybaby than Avad was at his age. How can such a man hope to raise an army and stop his father’s senseless blood sacrifices? And if he can, how will it change him?
Relationships: Avad & Itamen (Horizon: Zero Dawn), Avad & Jiran (Horizon: Zero Dawn), Avad & Kadaman (Horizon: Zero Dawn), Avad/Ersa (Horizon: Zero Dawn)
Series: Dawn of the Lightkeepers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805254
Comments: 100
Kudos: 61





	1. Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, HZD takes place in 3040.
> 
> EDIT: So apparently Dowager Queen is a title given to a king's widow, so Nasadi is not that just yet. Woops!

**3037**  
**Autumn of the twenty-first year of the thirteenth Sun-King’s reign**

****

On the northern shores of the lake known as Daybrink, underneath the Blazon Arch, the three princes of the Sundom bathed in the light of the sun.

****

“Itamen!” Queen Consort Nasadi called, exasperated. “Itamen, it is time to _eat!_ ”

****

Well, two of the three were sunbathing. The third was making a nuisance of himself, as usual.

****

Avad propped himself up on his elbows from where he lay, on a blanket spread on a conveniently flat rock by the Blazon Arch itself. His little brother Itamen--three years old, or three and three quarters if you asked him--was lying limp on the ground, laughing his tiny little head off at his mother’s attempts to get him to stand under his own power.

****

“Itamen,” Kadaman said. Avad glanced down at where he lay beside him on his stomach. His older brother took after their late mother, all honey-tinged hair and sharp features. He hadn’t even opened his eyes. “Listen to your mother.”

****

Itamen just laughed louder.

****

“I don’t think the little tyrant is going to bend that easily,” Avad noted, as Nasadi stalked over to them.

****

“Well, you can’t say I didn’t try,” Kadaman said, clearly trying to go back to sleep.

****

“ _I_ certainly can,” Nasadi said. She kicked the favored heir of the Sun-King in the leg. “Go get him.”

****

“Nasadi, I was just getting comfortable,” Kadaman complained.

****

“You’ve been comfortable for the last two hours,” their stepmother said ruthlessly. “My son needs to go inside and eat his lunch, and I will _not_ carry him like a sack of maize. Now go and _get_ him.”

****

“Fine,” Kadaman grumbled, and made a great show of struggling to his feet. He stretched and yawned as he approached his youngest brother.

****

Nasadi turned her scowl onto Avad next. “Go help him.”

****

He cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t think the future Sun-King can handle one little boy?”

****

“Of course not. He is weak. He needs you to keep him focused. Go _help_ him.”

****

“Yes, Nasadi,” Avad said, getting up with much more grace than his brother.

****

She waved him away. “I’ll get the blanket, and then you can _all_ come in and eat.”

****

Avad shook his head--his stepmother was an efficient mother, especially considering she was actually younger than her oldest stepson. Avad was certain that even the Nora could learn a thing or two from her.

****

He approached Kadaman, who was holding Itamen by the wrists. He lifted the boy up until he was on his toes, but when he lowered his arms, the little prince simply folded into a pile of limbs, still giggling.

****

“It’s not working,” Kadaman said. “I think he’s broken.”

****

“Broken or spoiled,” Avad agreed. He crouched in front of him. “Are you a spoiled sack of maize, Itamen?”

****

The young boy nodded his head, grinning.

****

Kadaman hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe if you take one arm, we can hold him up and pretend I got him to stand.”

****

Nasadi didn’t bother looking up from where she was shaking out the blanket. “Make him walk like a prince!”

****

“He’s going to need a bath before lunch,” Avad observed idly.

****

“No,” Itamen said, shaking his head vigorously.

****

Kadaman’s eyes danced. He looked to the lake then to Avad, and grinned. Avad sighed and shook his head.

****

“All right, no baths for little princes,” Avad said reasonably. He grabbed his ankles and stood. “Sacks of maize, though….”

****

“ _No!_ ” Itamen shrieked as he was carried towards the water, suspended between his two older brothers and trying to wriggle free.

****

“What are you two doing with my son?” Nasadi asked tiredly.

****

“Absolutely nothing!” Kadaman assured her. “We’re just dumping this sack of maize in the lake!”

****

“It’s full of worms,” Avad supplied helpfully, as Itamen wriggled harder.

****

“Do _not_ throw him in the lake,” Nasadi said, folding the blanket.

****

“We won’t!” Kadaman sang even as he and Avad began swinging. “ _One!_ And _two!_ And--”

****

Nasadi’s head jerked up. “I said _don’t--!_ ”

****

“ _\--three!_ ” Itamen went flying through the air with a shriek, limbs flailing wildly.

****

“Hold your breath!” Avad shouted, just before the little boy crashed with a great _splash!_ He came up a moment later, laughing and sputtering.

****

“ _Boys!_ ” Nasadi scolded, sounding thoroughly done with their nonsense.

****

“Someone should probably go get him,” Avad mused. His older brother clapped him on the shoulder.

****

“Yep,” Kadaman agreed, and pushed.

****

Avad pivoted as he fell, grabbed his arm and _pulled_ , bringing Kadaman face first into the water with an unprincely yelp. On the shore, the Queen Consort collapsed on the ground, laughing so hard she cried. They were all thoroughly late for lunch.

****

Prince Itamen would remember that day in the shadow of the Blazon Arch as his last truly happy memory--his whole family together, untainted by fear or blood. Prince Avad’s was from when he was twelve years old, before their father, the Mad Sun-King Jiran, had launched the first of the Red Raids.

****

Prince Kadaman’s last happy memory was earlier still, from before he had learned that his father had beaten his and Avad’s mother to death in a fit of paranoid rage.

****

Avad didn’t know. In three days, Kadaman would take that secret to his grave.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually went in-game and picked the location for this. At the Blazon Arch settlement, if you’re looking south towards the lake, it’s the shore on your right, next to the Blazon Arch itself.
> 
> I started thinking about this story when the trailer for Horizon: Forbidden West debuted. I actually started with another fic post-game, but changed gears to this one in order to get the background straight. I actually have the first 3 chapters done already, and I'll be updating this once a week.
> 
> Please tell me what you think! If I inspire incoherent screaming I want to know about it immediately.


	2. Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, I fixed Nasadi's title in the last chapter--Dowager Queen is for widows, but with Jiran alive, she's Queen Consort.
> 
> And be warned, dear reader: we're headed into the Sun-Ring this chapter. We've also hopped back 2 years from the last chapter, so we're 5 full years before the game. Way over in the Embrace, Aloy is 13, and doesn't have the slightest clue that any of this is happening.

**3035**  
**Summer of the nineteenth year of the thirteenth Sun-King’s reign**

His Luminance Sun-King Jiran, 13th of the Radiant Line, sat on his throne at Sunfall, overlooking the grand Sun-Ring. On his right stood his eldest son, Prince Kadaman of the Dawn’s Rising, the etched Glinthawk lens of the favored heir’s circlet on his brow flashing in the afternoon sun. To Jiran's left stood his Champion Helis, the Terror of the Sun. To _his_ left stood Prince Avad, the Sun-King’s second son, his much simpler circlet adorned with only white machine metal.

The arrangement was an obvious show of the Sun-King’s overall disappointment in the younger prince. Avad hardly cared; he’d stopped craving his father’s approval when the man had decided that the Sun demanded the blood of innocents. He rather wished he didn’t have to stand next to Helis, though.

Below the royals’ balcony, the hymn of the Sun-Priests came to an end. It was time for the next sacrifice. His father stood up and approached the balcony’s edge. It must be time for the main event.

Avad tuned him out as he looked to the cage suspended above the Sun-Ring. It was the same speech as always--someone had dared to defend themselves against slavery and death, and so his father had decided that they were to be made an example of. What was truly frightening was that the Carja hung on every word, completely enraptured every time. Avad knew that it wasn’t only out of fear, either--his father was just that good of a speaker.

The prince often wondered, if Jiran had been any less charismatic, would they still be in this blood-soaked mess?

The prisoner in the cage had their back to the balcony. They seemed to be wearing Oseram garb, but it was hard to be certain through the bars. They were sitting on the floor of the cage and rocking themselves back and forth. Whoever it was certainly wasn’t a fighter, which was odd. His father usually liked for his ‘guests’ of ‘honor’ to put on a show. He could probably learn more if he could bring himself to pay attention to his father’s words, but he knew it wouldn't matter.

He couldn’t save them, whoever they were.

The Sun-King’s speech ended and the crowd exploded in applause. He raised a hand, and the Sun-Priests raised their hands to the Sun. The cage dropped and the bottom fell open, expelling its prisoners.

Avad sucked in a breath. There were two of them, a mother and a _child_. Most children captured in the Raids were made into slaves, where they could be used to keep the others in line. They were not brought to the Sun-Ring, where even the brow-beaten public might rebel at such a display.

Someone must have _really_ upset his father.

The mother scrambled to her feet, clutching her child close. The child was a bit too big to be carried about like that, but the mother seemed determined that they would die together. Or maybe she was running on pure animal instinct. Most people tossed into the Sun-Ring wound up doing so, sooner or later. This woman had broken before the cage dropped. Avad didn’t blame her.

The Behemoth snapped free of its restraints just as the mother got her legs under her and began running. She was definitely panicking--she wasn’t running towards the outer gates or any of the doors, just _away_. The machine charged, reared up, and released a wave of pure shock. The mother’s body arched with the force of it and the child flew from her arms. Avad winced. They wouldn’t be dying together after all.

The Behemoth pulled chunks of rock from the earth beneath it, and Avad turned away as it let them fly. He could never stand to watch as the final blow was struck, and it was the tiniest, most twisted mercy that he’d had enough practice to know when to avert his gaze.

“ _MAMA!_ ” cried the child, the excellent acoustics of the Sun-Ring easily carrying her voice over the din of the Sun-Priests’ hymns and the machine’s whirs. Avad didn’t look back up until Helis let out a satisfied, grunting breath. He did that sometimes, when watching people die. Kadaman had once told him it sounded like the noise a man makes right before he rolls off a whore.

Avad shuddered in disgust. He _really_ wished Kadaman hadn’t said that.

The crowd erupted in uproarious applause. Avad wondered if his father heard the desperate fear feuling those cheers. Not that it mattered--his father had thrown a child in the Sun-Ring and they still clapped. How many more children would die here, now that the precedent was set?

Avad focused on the bodies as he struggled to keep the bile out of his throat. The corpses were easier to look at than the people, and easier still than the moment of transformation. At least they weren’t so _terrified_ anymore.

The prince flinched in surprise when the Sun-Priests started singing again; he hadn’t noticed them stopping. The Behemoth had been chained up again by Banuk slaves, but the bodies were still lying in the dirt. Avad looked to his father, worried what he might do to punish this breach in protocol, but he seemed unconcerned. Confused and trying to hide it, Avad looked back to the Sun-Ring.

From one of the side doors, two kestrels escorted a prisoner into the arena. She wore Oseram armor and had two long, dark braids down her back. Her hands were bound in front of her, carrying a warhammer. She held her head high and walked tall, as though she were a queen and the kestrels her honor guard, not a bound slave being led to a public execution.

Just seeing her made Avad stand straighter.

Avad didn’t need to be watching her closely to see the moment she saw the bodies; the double take was obvious, especially with the swinging of her braids. She stopped in her tracks, staring. Clearly she knew them.

 _Please_ , Avad thought desperately, not sure what he was hoping for. _Please, oh please._

The kestrels stopped and turned, and in that moment, the Oseram warrior struck. She swung her hammer into one’s knee, and kicked the other full in the chest, sending him sprawling. She turned back to the first and swung at his head, the force of her blow breaking the chin straps and sending the helmet flying with a mighty _clang!_ that might have echoed all the way back to the forges at Mainspring. As he lay on his back, dazed, she shifted her grip and brought the hammer down like the point of a sword, crushing his throat.

The other kestrel was on his feet, halberd in hand, charging. She swung the hammer in a sideways arc, connecting with the halberd’s shaft and jarring the weapon badly enough to disrupt his grip, but not enough for him to drop it. In the same motion, she threw herself shoulder first into his charge, overcoming his momentum and knocking him backwards. The Oseram followed, crowding him, preventing him from using the superior reach of his polearm. He dropped the weapon and grabbed her by the arms, and with her hands tied as well, that was bad.

She kicked viciously at his knee once, twice, then headbutted him. He must have let go in surprise more than pain, since his helmet was still on, but she got her opening. She took a half step back, planted her warhammer on the ground, and swung her whole body on the pivot, kicking his knee a third time, this time from the back. The man went down, and the Oseram swung her hammer in a full circle, the blow landing on his bared stomach. The kestrel curled, well beyond winded, and the woman used her foot to tip him on his side. She swung this time in a downward arc, her hammer colliding with the base of his skull. The kestrel did not move again.

The fight had lasted maybe an entire minute.

Boot still propped on the fallen kestrel, hands still bound, the Oseram warrior planted her hammer on the ground. She could have sawed off the rope on her hands, but she did not bother. She could have spared a glance to the Behemoth, barely restrained and waiting to kill her, but she did not care. Instead, she glared at the crowd with an arrogant sneer.

“Who’s _next?_ ” she challenged.

The crowd roared its approval. And why shouldn’t they? Sun-King Jiran had decreed that the Sun would accept the blood of the faithful as well as the faithless years ago. The only logic Avad could see was that if it happened in the Sun-Ring, the Sun had (allegedly) willed it so, because otherwise it would be an embarrassment to his father. The important thing was that his father wouldn’t be inclined to punish the woman simply for surviving.

Hopefully, anyway. Avad grew less certain of how his father’s mind worked every day. If the man weren’t so cunning, he’d be inclined to say it was simply working _less_.

Regardless, he could _not_ risk this absolute treasure of a woman disappearing into the slave markets, or worse, dying to the Behemoth on his father’s whim. He needed her like the Sun needed a sky to shine in. And so, with a word, he tossed her fate into the air like a smooth ancient charm, and prayed.

“Impressive,” Avad said, and he meant it.

Helis _humphed_ , not thrilled to see his kestrels bested, but his fanaticism would not allow his pride to feel the sting. Kadaman’s whole body tensed up, but he didn’t move. Their father laughed, long and hard.

The charm spun in the air. Avad forced himself to breathe while he waited to see how it landed.

“You have strange tastes, boy,” the Sun-King said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “When do you want her?”

Avad pretended to consider the question. “With dinner.”

“Ha!” Jiran laughed, and stood to speak to the crowd again. He held up his hands, and they quieted. “Congratulations, Bladewife! My son finds you _intriguing!_ You will attend him until the Sun bids you return!”

The crowd cheered again, celebrating the promised return of their latest champion, just as they would have had their Sun-King decreed the immediate unleashing of the Behemoth.

Avad breathed a sigh of relief. The charm had landed in her favor.

In the arena below, the warrior glared at the royal balcony with such heat it gave the prince chills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you remember that scene in the game where Helis breaks The Thing? And the noise he makes after he does it? Yeah, that’s the sound. It’s his ‘destiny has been fulfilled and so have my carnal needs’ sound. It is the worst sound ever and I hate it, which is why I’m sharing it with you.
> 
> And as a reminder, the smooth ancient charm is a vendor trash item from the game--it’s a coin.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments, no matter how incomprehensible, are appreciated! Also, I do believe that most chapters after this are gonna be way longer, or at least the next couple are, so woo!


	3. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herein lies the "implied threat of rape" mentioned in the tags. It will never actually happen in this fic (and I have zero plans for it at any time in this series), but it is something people worry about and mention, hence the trigger warning.
> 
> Also including this AMAZING fanart of Avad by Kelly McLarnon (https://kellymclarnon.tumblr.com/post/158990977099/some-horizon-zero-dawn-fan-art-love-this-game) showing Avad without his crown. He's typically wearing a circlet made of wire and machine metal in this fic. But really let's just stare at this beautiful man because OH MY GOODNESS.

Seven more people died in the Sun-Ring after the Oseram warrior woman was led away. After the Sun-King gave a final farewell speech to the crowds, he dismissed his sons and went to attend his other duties, his Champion at his heels as always.

The two princes made their way through the Sunfall palace silently, passing guards and servants. Kadaman was practically vibrating with restrained emotion, but Avad was certain no one who wasn’t his brother would notice. Avad himself was just as exhausted as he usually was after bearing witness to his father’s Sun-Ring, even after his victory. He used to berate himself for the banality of it--what right had he to be _tired_ just from _watching_ innocent people _die?_ \--but thoughts like that led to despair, and he was no good to anyone like that. He knew from experience.

They rounded a corner, and Avad had just enough time to register that the short hallway was empty of people before Kadaman herded him into a side room. By the smell of the pigments and dust, it was a painting studio, long abandoned. Avad briefly wondered if anyone had been in this room since their grand-uncle had died.

Kadaman snapped the door shut and rounded on him. “Are you _trying_ to get killed?” he hissed.

“Father would never,” Avad countered quietly. “I’m a member of the Radiant Line. If he kills me, the nobles will realize they’re not safe, and they’d rally the people in open rebellion.”

Kadaman glared with such heat Avad was surprised his skin didn’t blister. “ _Father_ doesn’t need to kill you, he just has to let the slave who just killed two kestrels _with her hands tied_ get some time alone with a prince she thinks is about to _rape her_.”

Before Avad could respond, the door behind his brother opened.

“Your Radiance,” greeted Blameless Marad blithely.

Kadaman’s face went through a dozen expressions before he turned to face the Sun-King’s newly ascended spymaster.

“What is it?” the heir to the Sundom demanded.

Blameless Marad bowed. “My apologies, your Radiance, but there is a matter that requires your immediate attention.”

Kadaman inhaled deeply, chest swelling, and glanced at his younger brother.

Avad smiled reassuringly. “We can continue this in the morning, brother.”

His eyes narrowed. “We will,” he said. Avad knew that what he’d meant was _If you’re still_ alive _in the morning._

Avad stepped around his brother and towards the door before the older prince could think of an excuse to delay him. Blameless Marad moved graciously out of the way and bowed to him, smiling.

Avad’s jaw clenched. He liked his father’s spymaster even less than _Helis_. While that man was fanatical and revolting, he was at least _obvious_ about it. _This_ man, though, was all smiles and respect and impeccable manners. Avad considered himself to be an excellent judge of character, but this man did not register as a threat to his instincts at _all_. Every time he saw that smile, his heart told him that this was a friend and ally.

Which was patently untrue, for it was the spymaster’s duty to find malcontents amongst the Carja for his father to throw in the Sun-Ring. Loyal subjects whose only crime was being loyal to the Sun over the Sun- _King_. The fact that his instincts were at war with what he _knew_ put Avad’s teeth on edge. Helis may be the most destructive weapon in his father’s arsenal, but Blameless Marad was the most dangerous. He forced himself to give a curt nod to the man as he passed.

The prince made his way alone to his chambers. Outside the doors stood two guards he didn’t recognize. They must have been assigned by his father, or perhaps the spymaster on his father’s command. He nodded to them as he entered, and found that he wasn’t alone.

At his private dining table in his sitting room sat the Oseram warrior woman. She wore only a belted robe of the finest silk that reached mid-thigh, and was currently stuffing her face with his dinner. She gave him a flat look as she pulled the last chunk of meat from her fork, daring him to complain.

“Please, continue eating,” Avad said, locking the door behind him without turning his back on her. It didn’t matter that the guards would be locked out. They had not only let this woman be in his room alone for who knows how long, they also hadn’t bothered to inform him of her presence. They certainly wouldn’t come to his aide if he called for help.

It looked like Kadaman was right about their father’s intentions regarding his least favorite son. Hopefully, he would prove to be wrong about the Oseram’s intentions. Or, at least, her temperament.

The warrior raised an eyebrow at him and kept chewing. She was tall and broad, all muscle and brawn, and the slinky robe they had dressed her in did not suit her at all. He noticed a bruise blooming on her forehead from where she had headbutted one of the kestrels she’d killed.

“I suppose they told you, but in case not, my name is Avad,” he said, passing her by to lay his scimitar on its display. “I am the Sun-King’s second son. And you are?”

He heard her swallow. “Ersa.”

Avad nodded. “Ersa. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He stepped over to the windows, drawing the curtains closed. “I have some salvebrush ointment if you’d like to--”

He wasn’t surprised when he heard her run at him, so he was already half-turned with his hands raised when she grabbed his shoulder and slammed his back against the wall. He _was_ surprised when she pressed her fork into his neck--he’d expected her to grab a knife.

“I don’t think this is going to be as _pleasurable_ for you as you _think_ ,” Ersa snarled.

“I have no such intentions towards you,” he assured her, keeping the backs of his hands against the wall.

“Oh, yeah? That’s not what your men said when they _beat_ me to try and make me _behave_ for you.”

Avad swallowed, feeling the tines of the fork press into his skin. “I am sorry about that, but this was the only way to get you here alive and alone.”

“And why would you want _that_ , pretty boy?” She ground the fork into the apple of his throat.

“Your-- _hair_ ,” Avad choked out. Ersa narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and eased the pressure by a fraction.

“What _about_ my hair?”

“It’s long,” the prince explained, forcing himself to speak evenly despite the bruising pressure on his throat. “Bladewives shorn their hair, and they don’t use warhammers, so you’re not one of them. You’re an Oseram regular or a freebooter, and a _woman_. My understanding is that women are _property_ in the Claim, so for you to be given a position of command over men, which you clearly _have_ , then you must be _truly_ exceptional. I could not in good conscience stand by and watch such a capable enemy of my enemy die in the Sun-Ring.”

Ersa glared. “My enemy is your _king_.”

Avad took a deep breath. “My _brother_ is my king.”

His treason hung in the air. She stared at him, furious and calculating. The blunt tines of the fork still pressed painfully on his throat.

“The two before me,” she said quietly at last, and the prince’s hair stood on end at the promise of murder in her voice. “You _stood by_ as _they_ died.”

“I did,” he said thickly. “I do that for so _many_.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“They couldn’t save anyone.” He worked his jaw. “I can only risk saving a few, so when I do it has to be _worth_ it.”

“And they _weren’t?_ ”

“They _were_.” Avad closed his eyes. Forced them open again. “I knew they were important to someone. To you, when you saw them. But my father doesn’t care for _mercy_. If you don’t fight back and win, if you don’t _earn_ the right to _live_ , he won’t _let_ you. But they didn’t _deserve--_ ” His voice broke. By the Sun, there was so much _blood_. How many gallons had he seen spilled in the last five years? How many more had been spilled in the whole _eight_ years of his father’s Red Raids?

Ersa ground her teeth, gripping the fork so hard Avad could feel it shaking against his throat. He met her gaze with dry eyes, long past the point of crying over the simple memory of slaughter.

She turned from him suddenly, stalking over to the divan and dropping on it, her back to him. Avad had just enough time to be relieved that he hadn’t miscalculated when she swept her twin braids over one shoulder and dropped her robe so it pooled around her hips. Her back was a mess of blooming bruises.

“Get the salvebrush ointment,” Ersa ordered.

Avad rubbed his throat and winced, looking everywhere but at her. The jar of ointment was next to his scimitar, which was in front of her, and, well. He took a steadying breath and fetched it, keeping a hand up to his face to shield his eyes. He stood behind her and held it out next to her.

“I can’t exactly reach my back,” she said archly, not even bothering to turn her head.

Avad resisted the urge to roll his eyes. She was toying with him, though he supposed he couldn’t blame her. The Oseram warrior clearly had pride to spare, and being at the mercy of a Carja prince must sting something awful. He decided to accept her needling with grace--she had been polite enough to not kill him, after all.

The prince grabbed a pillow and set it down at the base of her spine to preserve her modesty. He sat down behind her, opened the jar, wet the brush, and applied the ointment to her wounds. It would relieve her of the pain readily enough, but since there were no open cuts, the bruises would hang on for a while yet.

“So what’s your plan?” Ersa asked.

“It’s not _my_ plan,” Avad said, painting her back. “It’s Kadaman’s, my brother's. And I don’t know the details. I’m a poor liar, it’s safer this way.”

“You’re just gonna trust a plan you don’t know anything about?”

“I have faith in my king. I know he plans to unseat our father and stop the Red Raids.”

“I meant for me, dumbass. I can’t do much as a _slave_ but sit here looking hot and naked.”

Behind her back, Avad _did_ roll his eyes this time. “He’ll get you out, though I suspect it will take some time. He’ll probably have me summon you again to tell you the next step, so you know it’s not a trick.”

Ersa snorted. “He didn’t know you were doin’ this, did he? I bet he was _pissed_.”

“He still is. I expect to get lectured in the morning,” he said, setting the jar next to her. “Here, use it all if you need to.”

Ersa glanced over her shoulder at him with an exaggerated pout. “Can't you do it for me?”

Avad gave her a flat look. “You can do it yourself.”

She stood suddenly, trying to catch him off guard again, and the prince turned in his seat to look away. Behind him, clothing rustled and the divan dipped again.

“Are you decent?” he asked.

“Only by Carja standards,” she said.

He peeked over his shoulder. Her short robe was on properly again, and she had her foot propped up on the divan as she brushed the ointment over the top of it. The image reminded him vividly of Nasadi lacquering her toenails.

“So,” Avad said after a moment. “The tea is wild ember. You should drink all of it. Just leave me some wine, please.”

“That sweet swill? You can have it.”

“And you should finish the food,” he continued, ignoring her needling. “I can imagine they’d like to starve you, after seeing you fight. And depending on what Kadaman decides, I might not be able to get you up here very often, if at all.”

Ersa closed the jar and looked him dead in the eye over her shoulder. “If anyone tries to touch me, I’ll kill them.”

“They won’t. You’re seen as my personal property now, no one would risk a prince’s wrath.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz you’re clearly _full_ of wrath.”

“My father’s then, for insulting his son, and through me, him.”

“And if it’s your father trying?” Ersa’s fingers twitched. Clearly she wouldn't do the Sun-King the courtesy of _threatening_ his life before she took it.

Avad shook his head. “He won’t. My father has… peculiar ideas, when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“He’s pretty fuckin’ ‘peculiar’ about a lot of things,” Ersa said darkly.

Avad sighed. “True, but in his mind, an unwed man should bed as many women as possible, to prove his dominance. But a wedded man should bed only his wife, to prove his discipline. He’s married, so you’re safe from him.”

“And what about you?”

“I am an unwed disappointment,” he said with a small smile. “Though I should warn you about Kadaman. He may ask, if he summons you to his chambers to talk, but he’ll take ‘no’ for an answer. Please don’t hit him for asking, if my father finds out you’ll lose a hand.”

Ersa raised an eyebrow. “Your brother sounds like a class fuckin’ act,” she said, tone dryer than the desert.

“It’s not like _that_. Kadaman’s unwed, and needs to keep on our father’s good side. He has no trouble finding willing partners, and he doesn’t sleep with slaves as a rule. He _might_ ask you because you are so clearly unbowed, and in a safer position than most.”

“If he calls me to his chambers to chat, he can just… _not_ try to fuck me and say he did. Like we’re doin’ right now.”

“I just meant that asking is a _habit_ for him.”

The Oseram gave him a look. “So what you’re saying is, Kadaman is a cad.”

Avad closed his eyes. “ _Please_ don’t say that in front of him,” he pleaded. “He will repeat it for _years_.”

Ersa threw back her head and cackled. “Fire and _spit_ , man! I think I like him already.”

The prince sighed. “ _Wonderful_.”

She snickered. “Don’t worry, pretty boy, you’ll always be my first.”

“This is the worst idea I have _ever had_ ,” Avad grumbled, and got to his feet. “Drink your tea and eat.”

“I don’t take orders from _you_ ,” Ersa spat as she stood up, and poured herself a cup of sweet wine out of spite. She sipped it and made a face, and shoved the cup at Avad.

He took it and cocked an eyebrow. “Then consider it a suggestion. Do you want the divan or the bed?”

She snorted. “Neither. I don’t wanna be here when your brother shows up in the morning. I know what _I’d_ do if Erend pulled a stunt like this.”

Avad froze with the cup halfway to his lips. “You... have a little brother?” he asked apprehensively.

Ersa waved away his concern as she poured herself some tea. “Erend’s fine, he wasn’t with me. Well, he’s not _fine_ , he’s probably half-drowned in ale right now, but he ain’t here and he ain’t dead.”

“Good,” he said seriously. He glanced at the door. “I... don’t know how long we should wait before you leave, to make this believable.”

She smirked. “You really _are_ a disappointment to daddy dearest, ain’tcha?”

“I should think that would be a noble goal,” the prince said dryly.

Ersa raised her glass to that, and Avad clinked his to hers in a toast.

And to think, less than an hour ago she’d wanted to kill him with his own fork.

When the Oseram ate her full and finished her tea (Avad went slow with the wine; he hadn’t eaten any of his own dinner yet), she stood and said “All right, back to the fuckin’ barracks.”

“Sleep well,” Avad said. She snorted.

“Clearly you ain’t ever slept in a barracks.”

“No, but I’ve slept on the ground a fair few times.” He shrugged. “While on hunts, so not often, and only when I chose, but a bad night’s sleep is hardly a completely foreign concept.”

“Man of the fuckin’ people, right here.”

He shrugged again. “I do my best.”

Ersa undid the locks on the door, then paused, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Avad?” she said softly.

He looked over at her. She ducked her head demurely, glancing behind her and down. On reflex, his eyes followed her gaze.

That’s when Ersa flipped the back of her robe up, flashing her rear at him. Avad’s eyes snapped back to her face, scandalized and blushing. She smirked victoriously and opened the door.

“Alright, boys!” she announced to the guards outside. “I’ve had my fill of him. Which way to my room?” And she slammed the door behind her.

Avad closed his eyes, covered his burning face in his hands, and sank slowly down into his chair in complete and utter defeat.

After a minute his stomach rumbled, reminding him that not only had he not eaten any of his dinner, but that he hadn’t eaten at all since breakfast. He always skipped lunch on days he had to attend his father at the Sun-Ring. He sighed and set about eating her leftovers, not willing to order more food and risk someone putting two and two together punishing his new ally.

As Avad picked over his demolished dinner, he wondered if all Oseram women were as infuriating as Ersa, or if that was just her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Hey,’ I can hear you thinking, ‘what’s with the long hair? Ersa in-game has short hair.’ Well, surprise! Hair can be cut! It will all be explained in time.
> 
> All not-rude feedback is appreciated!


	4. Patience

Avad awoke with a start to a pounding on his bedroom door.

“Avad!” Kadaman demanded from the other side. “Are you alive in there?”

“Yes,” he called hoarsely, tossing aside silken sheets.

“Then _open this door_ so I can _kill you myself_.”

Avad coughed. “One moment.” He struggled out of his bed and unlocked the door.

Kadaman hissed at the sight of him. “Did she try to _strangle_ you?”

Avad brought a hand to his throat; he must have quite the bruise. “It was a fork.”

Kadaman growled, almost glowing with fury. “ _Get. Dressed._ ”

Avad fled to his closet and picked out something simple and quick to put on--or simple by a prince’s standards at least. Kadaman crossed his arms as he stood in the doorway, purposefully blocking the way to the sitting room.

“Is breakfast here yet?” Avad asked, putting on fresh clothes.

“Yes,” Kadaman said, glaring. “And it can _wait_.”

The younger man winced. If Kadaman wasn’t going to make him eat first, he must be even angrier than he’d feared.

Avad steeled himself with a deep breath and came to stand at attention in front of his brother. His ready acquiescence only seemed to make Kadaman’s rage burn brighter.

“ _What were you thinking?!_ ” his big brother demanded. Avad could tell he wanted to shout, but neither of them would risk being overheard. “I know how much you _hate_ having to sit there and _watch_ , but I need you to be _patient_. We are trying to end the Red Raids for _good_. You can’t let father goad you into doing something _foolish_ to save _one_ life when there are _thousands more_ on the line!”

Avad scowled. “He didn’t _goad_ me into anything.”

Kadaman raised a skeptical eyebrow. “He made you watch a _child_ die, then sent in a pissed off Bladewife with a weapon in her hand and two kestrels who like to show off by not wearing full suits of armor. If she _had_ died, she’d just be dead, but when she _didn’t_ , it baited the trap, and you stepped _right_ into it. _And_ I hear your honor guard was given the night off.”

Avad blinked. He hadn’t considered things from his father’s perspective. “All right, I didn’t quite think it through--”

“You don’t _say_.”

“-- _but_ it didn’t work out like father thought it would. He’ll probably like me _more_ now, since I survived, and he’ll think I--you know,” he finished awkwardly. Avad wasn’t sure what effect last night would have on his reputation at court. Some, like his father, would be pleased that he finally bedded a woman. Others would be horrified that he’d bedded an outlander and risked siring an impure bastard. But worst of all were those who would be disgusted at him for bedding a slave, because those would be the sort of people whose support he actually _wanted_. Then again, having those people _not_ supporting him would mean that he would be less likely to be suspected of subversiveness, which was apparently key to Kadaman’s plans.

“And what _were_ you thinking, risking everything for some Bladewife?” the older prince demanded.

“She’s not a Bladewife. Her hair’s too long, and she favors a hammer, not a sword.”

“Oh _yes_ ,” Kadaman said acidly, “because her not being a Bladewife makes _all the difference_.”

“It _does_ ,” Avad insisted. “Bladewives aren’t respected, they’re seen as _trash_. They’re just--fodder, if they’re allowed to fight at all. There’s even been reports of enslaved Bladewives being _murdered_ by other Oseram slaves, apparently just for existing. And Bladewives are normally the _only_ way an Oseram woman is trained in combat. Ersa is _not_ a Bladewife, and not only is she trained, she’s an _elite warrior_ , and she’s been given a command position _over_ Oseram men, _by_ Oseram men. In order for her to have gotten where she is, she has to be one of their greatest commanders, even if it’s only on a small scale. She certainly did _something_ to warrant father throwing a child in the Sun-Ring to goad _her_. If she’s not a key part of the Oseram military strategy, she _should_ be. We _need_ her _alive_.”

Kadaman stared at his brother, anger warring against shock. “You _can’t_ know all that.”

“It’s plainly seen,” Avad countered. “The fact that she’s not a Bladewife, at least. And I learned about Bladewives by keeping an eye on the slave pits.” The prince had taken it upon himself to keep abreast of the welfare and goings-on of the Sundom’s many prisoners of war. Their father saw it as yet another sign of his soft-heartedness, not as Avad making use of a treasure trove of information about the other tribes. “And everyone knows that women are respected less in the Claim than in the Sundom. You can imagine what it would take for a woman to be given a command _here_. Now imagine what it must have taken for _her_ to gain such a position up _there_.”

“You could tell _all that_ from just a minute-long fight?” Kadaman asked in a strained voice.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said. “The hair, the hammer, the way she walked.” _It was obvious,_ he didn’t say, because somehow these things were only obvious to _him_.

Kadaman dragged a shaking hand down his face. “Shadows at noon, Avad,” he said. “You’ve the Sun’s own sight sometimes.”

Avad shrugged. “If she wasn’t allowed her Oseram armor and a hammer, I wouldn’t have seen anything, and I wouldn’t have risked it.”

Kadaman huffed a laugh, then pushed past his brother to sit on the bed. He held his head in his hands, deep in thought. Avad left him to it.

Kadaman took a deep breath, not looking up. “You don’t know what sort of command she has?”

“I didn’t ask; I was building rapport. I can summon her again tonight and ask for details.”

The favored heir shook his head. “No, not tonight.” Another pause. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself.

“She needs political capital,” Avad supplied. “The story of her fight in the Sun-Ring ought to help, but she’ll need more than that. Information, something they can _use_ , so that the Ealdormen can’t deny her value.”

Kadaman dropped his hands and glared at his little brother. “How do I ever keep anything from _you?_ ”

“By not telling me things, and by me not looking. I can’t form any conclusions without information. But _I’m_ the one with all the information on Ersa, so of course I can think of what she would need from us.” He smiled a little. “Also, you’re usually more annoying than this, which I find distracting.”

Kadaman snorted, then sobered up. “How am I supposed to protect you when you see so _much?_ ”

Avad gazed at his brother softly. He knew how he felt; if Itamen were older, he’d have the same sort of worries of _him_ seeing too much and ruining whatever delicate game Kadaman was playing, and getting hurt in the process. As it was, their youngest brother wasn’t yet two years old, and hopefully they’d get the Carja out of this mess before Itamen realized what their father had done to the Sundom.

“I will always tell you if I think I see part of your plan,” Avad promised his big brother. “Because I know you might need me to be genuinely surprised at something, and if I can’t be, then you need to know to adjust your plan accordingly.”

“Thank you,” Kadaman said quietly, and stood up. He clapped a hand on his little brother’s shoulder. “I’ll get her back to the Claim, and she won’t go empty handed. It’ll take a while, so in the meantime, keep her fed; she’ll need her strength for the road.”

“Shall I ask her about her command?”

Kadaman shook his head. “No, I have other sources. I want _you_ to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“I understand,” Avad said, and he did. But he couldn’t keep a note of disappointment out of his voice. He trusted his brother to save the Carja and all the other tribes from their father, but he _hated_ not being able to _do_ anything, to have to stand by and _watch_.

“Avad,” Kadaman said seriously, gripping him by both his shoulders. “Listen to me. Father isn’t getting any _less_ mad. He will only find new lows to sink to. And if we don’t stop him, one day he will decide that the Sun demands _royal_ blood be spilled, and he _will_ spill _yours_. So keep. Your head. _Down_.”

Avad lowered his gaze. It wasn’t that it was surprising to hear that Jiran would mind his death the least out of his sons--after all, he had all but sent an assassin to his room last night. It wasn’t even that he held onto the hope of fatherly affection staying the Sun-King’s hand. But to sacrifice him in the Sun-Ring would mean that the whole Sundom would have to bear witness.

“I won’t let him,” Avad said heatedly. He looked his brother in the eye. “I swear to you, as my king, I will _not_ let him make you _watch_ as I die. I won’t _do_ that to you.”

Kadaman closed his eyes and pulled his little brother into a tight hug. “ _Thank you_ ,” he whispered into his hair. Avad hugged him back.

They stood like that for a while, trying not to hold each other too tight.

After a minute, Avad asked “Can I have my breakfast now?”

Kadaman choked. “ _Breakfast_ ,” he scoffed, pushing Avad away from him to hold him at arm’s length. Avad chose not to comment on the tears in his eyes as his brother spun him around and marched him into his sitting room. After all, it was usually Avad who was crying. “You want _breakfast_ after pulling a stunt like _that_. You’re lucky I’m letting you _breathe_.”

“I’m hungry,” Avad complained. “I let Ersa eat all my dinner last night.”

“That’s your own fault,” Kadaman said, pushing him into his chair. “And your breakfast is cold, which is _also_ your fault. _Everything_ is your fault today.”

“Yes, big brother. I’m sorry, big brother. It won’t happen again, big brother.”

“It had _better_ not,” Kadaman sighed as he sat down opposite him. “ _At least_ not until we get your Ersa out. I don’t care who it is, we can _not_ risk two escapes at once, if at all, and you’ve already made your choice.”

“I understand,” Avad said. They dug into the food. It was nice to be able to really _enjoy_ a full meal, even if it had gone cold; there would be no grand sacrifices in the Sun-Ring today, so no need to worry about it coming back up. Last year Jiran had decreed that one life a day must be given to the Sun, so someone _would_ die with the noon prayer, but it would be by a priest with a blade and not a Behemoth, and to a much smaller crowd. Their father did not require his sons to attend such a menial daily task with him, though Kadaman often did, to keep up appearances. Avad never had, and was often torn between guilt and relief that _he_ could avoid it while so many others could not. But he had his own appearances to keep up, and he forced himself to be thankful for what little mercy there was to be had under their father’s reign.

“Oh, before I forget,” Avad said when they were about finished eating. “Don’t flirt with Ersa.”

Kadaman’s eyebrows shot for the sky. “Oh?”

Avad gave him a withering look. “It’s not like _that_. We need her to trust us, and to know we _respect_ her, and so _I_ need _you_ to not flirt with a pretty girl _for once in your life_.”

His brother made a face. “Well, if I flirted with her, I wouldn’t be flirting with a _pretty_ girl.”

Avad stared at him incredulously. “You _saw_ her. When she came in, the way she _walked_.”

“Is this the same walk that clued you into the fact that she commands men?”

“ _Yes_.”

Kadaman’s eyebrows inched even higher. “Father was right. You _do_ have strange tastes.”

“It’s not _strange_ ,” Avad defended. “She’s competent. What’s strange about appreciating competence?”

Kadaman sipped his tea. “I didn’t say ‘competent.’”

Avad rolled his eyes. “Commanding, whatever. Which shows competence _and_ confidence. That’s just _inherently_ attractive.”

Kadaman waggled his eyebrows. “Do _I_ need to warn _you_ against flirting with our newest asset?”

Avad made a face. “ _No_. You’re going to have a rough enough time as it is trying to fix what’s broken in the Sundom without trying to sell the nobles on me taking an outlander for a wife.”

“So you want to _marry_ her now?”

Avad threw his napkin at him. “ _Of course not_ , but I should think _you_ would, with the kind of queen we’ll need after father’s been dealt with.”

“Yeah,” he said skeptically, “I think I’ll leave marrying Ersa to you.”

“I’m not-- _dammit_ , Kadaman,” Avad buried his face in his hands. “You are the _worst person I have ever met_.”

“Well, I _am_ your big brother.”

“ _That is exactly what I said_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word "Bladewife" is mentioned exactly once in the game, and I’m expanding on the idea for this fic. Gera at Hunter's Gathering mentions them, but only if you talk to her before getting Daytower to open its gates.  
> Gera: In the Claim, where we come from--we don’t own property, we become it. Alewife, Forgewife and so on… Bladewife, if we’re inclined to shear our heads and kiss the steel. It is what it is. Makes strong marriages, or infamous criminals.


	5. Suffering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentioned murder of a pregnant woman.
> 
> For the timeline, the Red Raids started in 3028. You can math it out based on various datapoints throughout the game. Kadaman and Avad don’t have a canonical age or birthdate, so I’ve decided that they were born in 3011 and 3016 respectively. That would make them 17 and 12 when the Raids started, and 24 and 19 in this chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm gonna go back and add the new world-style reckoning of dates to previous chapters, in addition to the year as we would count it.

The first thing Avad did the second time he summoned Ersa to his chambers was throw a pair of his trousers straight at her smirking face.

“What, no shirt?”

“... I don’t actually own a shirt fit for a lady.”

“You’re tellin’ me a pretty boy like you doesn’t own a pretty enough shirt for _me?_ ”

“It’s more a matter of _coverage_.”

But after that, they started falling into a pattern.

He had her over two or three times each week, always during a meal, and he always had enough food for two sent to his chambers. He’d always been an avid reader, but now he started to hoard library books in his room. History, poetry, fiction--he tried to keep a decent selection on hand for her visits, but no more than one or two that his father would consider useful at a time. The palace library was technically the property of the Sun-King, after all.

Avad himself usually wound up reading them, sometimes aloud, especially after Ersa discovered that she could see one of the training grounds for the Sundom’s army outside his bedroom window. Between what she could see from there and what Avad remembered from watching them up close himself, she did her best to follow along with their drills. There was no way he could get a halberd into his room for her to practice with, so she made do with a long pillow, or occasionally, a long loaf of bread that they split afterwards.

Avad suspected she did this as much to keep up her strength as she did to study her enemies--it wouldn’t exactly do for a slave to be caught practicing combat forms in the slave quarters. As it was, the guards there only hit her anymore when she mouthed off to them, which was fairly often. Ersa seemed to think the trade was worth it. Avad figured it would be suspicious if she stopped, nevermind that she wouldn’t listen to him if he told her to.

If Kadaman or any of his other allies had contacted her, she didn’t mention, and he didn’t ask.

It was her second month as a palace slave when Ersa said, “You realize you’re helping me kill them, right?”

Avad looked over from where he stood at the window, where he was trying to help figure out how the kestrels were gripping their weapons during a particularly tricky maneuver. “Hm?”

“Your men,” Ersa explained. She stood on his bed holding a limp noodle of a pillow, but had abandoned her fighting stance. The prince’s bedroom had enough floor space for her to practice with the furniture pushed up against the walls, but she’d gotten sick of falling on the hard stone floor for the day. “If I meet them on a battlefield, I’m gonna kill as many of them as I can.”

“The kestrels are hardly _my_ men,” he said, turning back to study them. “Or my brother’s. Our father’s gone to great lengths to make them personally loyal to him, even over the Sun itself.”

“I ain’t plannin’ to be _particular_ when I’m killing butchers and slavers.”

“Which is as it should be.” Avad glanced back at her. “Surely you don’t think I’m so naive as to not realize what happens in a war?”

“Of course not,” Ersa huffed, flicking one of her braids over her shoulder. “I just don’t see how you’re _okay_ with it.”

Two weeks ago was the Summer Solstice, and to celebrate, Sun-King Jiran had an Utaru resistance leader dropped from the cage. She’d been heavily pregnant at the time, and was unable to stand before the Behemoth got to her. She’d tried crawling, though.

Kadaman must have known ahead of time, because he’d had Ersa waiting in Avad’s chambers afterwards. He didn’t speak except to tell her to take the bed while he slept in the sitting room, and miracle of miracles, she did as he asked. Of course, his attempt at being a polite host was rather spoiled when he’d dreamt of drowning in blood and woken her up four times with the sound of him choking in his sleep.

He really should have predicted that would happen. The dream was hardly new.

It had been nice to have someone there, though; Ersa’s strong and steady presence had helped ease him into dreamless sleep each time. Avad was too selfish to forbid the slave masters from allowing her to be sent to his rooms by another, and told himself it was because Kadaman might need to use her one day to send a message.

“I’m hardly ‘okay’ with my people suffering at all,” Avad said grimly. “But if someone must die, I’d rather it be soldiers on a battlefield than _anyone_ in the Sun-Ring.”

“Yeah, cuz the _Carja_ are suffering so much,” Ersa snapped. Avad wasn’t surprised by her sudden shift in position; Ersa was not one to let an argument go unfought. According to her it was an Oseram thing.

“We are,” he said calmly. “I can hardly say if we’re suffering more or less than the Oseram or the other tribes, but the Carja are hardly unscathed by the Red Raids.”

She snorted as she hopped down from his bed. “In what world could the tribe who _started_ this shit be suffering _more_ than the rest of us?”

Avad blinked at her. “The one where, after this is over, all the other tribes unite to murder every last man, woman and child in the Sundom. Slowly.”

“Point,” Ersa grumbled. “But that’s only _after_. What about _now,_ while they’re out there Raiding?”

“Now,” Avad said, “my father forces them to _commit_ the Red Raids.”

“Oh, what _suffering,_ ” Ersa snarled. “Being forced to kidnap _other people_ and watch them crushed by a Behemoth while the crowd fucking _cheers_.”

“It is suffering,” Avad said quietly. “Not for all of them, and not as much as it should be, for many of the rest. Helis enjoys it, and he isn’t alone. But most of the Carja? They live each day in terror, and are too ashamed to admit it.”

“If they’re so fuckin’ _ashamed_ maybe they shouldn’t have listened to the _Mad Sun-King_ in the _first place!_ ”

Avad winced and glanced at the door. Between the bedroom door and the sitting room, it was unlikely the guards outside Avad’s chamber heard Ersa’s outburst, and if they did, they were _his_ guards today, not his father’s. They would not report her for having called the Sun-King mad, nor would they report their prince for not slaying her immediately. Still, he’d prefer to not tempt fate.

“They didn’t think he was mad, at the start,” Avad said. “The sacrifices started because my father proclaimed that the Derangement was a punishment from the Sun. The spilling of blood has long been known to quell the Sun’s anger; when one has sinned beyond their ability to reconcile, spilling your own lifeblood in the Sun’s name will cleanse your soul as it passes into the night. So it was no great stretch for my father to claim that forcing others to die in its light would earn us the Sun’s forgiveness.”

“ _You_ didn’t believe him,” Ersa accused.

“No. The Sun’s judgement can be harsh, but it calls us to serve life, not death. The idea that the Sun would demand innocent people be sacrificed was _insane_.”

“But your _brother_ believed it.”

Avad looked away. “He did, yes.”

Ersa’s gaze darkened. “He believed him so much that he’s been _leadin' _half of the fuckin’ Raids.”__

“Of course he has,” Avad said quietly. “Kadaman is the favored heir, and a skilled warrior and commander. Who else would the Sun-King choose to lead his crusades against the unfaithful but the Prince of the Dawn’s Rising?”

“He coulda said _no_.”

“And then what would have happened?” Avad demanded. “Even in the early days, before he started throwing his own people in the Sun-Ring, my father would not have suffered such a slight. If Kadaman had defied him, he’d be dead, and I would have followed right after. Then there’d be _no_ princes opposing him.”

“But he didn’t even _want_ to, did he?”

“No. Because he _trusted_ his _father,_ ” Avad said. “When this all started, the Derangement had been getting worse for _years,_ and no one had a solution besides the Sun-King, whose will is light and whose light is law. It was gruesome, but Kadaman figured it _had_ to work, otherwise father wouldn’t have asked him to do it. What _sane man_ would ask his _son_ to steal away innocents from their homes to be slaughtered without being _certain_ that it would help?”

“What sane man would actually believe that it _would?_ ” Ersa countered.

“No sane man would,” said Avad. “The Carja aren’t like the Oseram. You have your World-Machine, but that’s not faith, it’s _theory_. You argue about it, you debate, and you demand _proof_. That’s not how it is for the Carja. ‘We believe in the Sun and its Light gladly, and without question.’ From the first Article of the Sun. And from the second; ‘He shall be known as the Sun-King, and his word shall be law.’”

She rolled her eyes. “So now you’re telling me that you’re _all_ fuckin’ crazy, not just your _king_.”

“From a certain point of view, yes,” Avad said, stepping away from the window. “But normally, we’re mad enough to be _good,_ in spite of everything. But my father _used_ my people’s faith in him to achieve his own ambitions. He had dreams of being a conqueror in all things, and to do so, he betrayed the Carja with malice and forethought.

“He started with the Nora, because they’re ‘savages,’ and they would never leave their Sacred Lands to retaliate. He told the Carja that it was past time that we serve them ‘justice’ for having driven us out centuries ago. To our eternal discredit, it wasn’t very hard to convince my people to _cheer_ when they died.

“Then he Raided the Banuk, because they’re almost as ‘savage’ as the Nora, and they’re not unified. It also helped that they were easier to take alive, since they weren’t worried about being damned for leaving their Sacred Land. My father told us they deserved it, because they were allies with the Nora. My people weren’t as enthusiastic, but mostly, they didn’t question it.

“Then he Raided the Oseram, because they were the most likely to prepare an effective defense if they were given time to prepare. My people didn’t cheer as loudly, but everyone knows the Oseram are a bunch of uncouth drunks, even though we’ve been on good terms for decades. And it was the Sun-King’s will, so it had to be done.

“And then he Raided the Utaru,” Avad said, and closed his eyes. “The _Utaru,_ who don’t _have_ a military, who barely have _anyone_ who knows how to fight. And he sent Kadaman to do it, with Helis to guide him, because he was only seventeen, and it was his first command. And my brother _hated_ the idea of sacrificing innocents, but he did his best, and came back victorious.

“That was in the autumn of the first year of the Red Raids. My father sent him again in the spring, without Helis. The Utaru greeted him with baskets of grain, because so many had been lost that they hadn’t used up what they had stored for the winter, and they asked for _mercy._ And Kadaman…”

Avad swallowed, and spoke through his tears. “Kadaman wanted to avoid _unnecessary_ bloodshed, so he set a trap. He pretended to accept their tribute, and then had his men capture them all. It worked; _no one_ died that day. He brought so many slaves back, it took the rest of the year to sacrifice them all. Father was so _proud._ Kadaman couldn’t sleep for _months._

__

“But then that summer the first Thunderjaw appeared, and my brother realized it had all been for _nothing._ ”

__

Avad could still remember that night, when he had all but broken into his brother’s chambers, shouting obscenities at the guards until his brother finally let him enter. Kadaman had been drunk and miserable, his scimitar unsheathed on the table in front of him. Avad had tried to tackle him to the ground, but he was only thirteen and even drunk, his big brother was steady on his feet. They wound up on the floor anyway, face-paint running as they sobbed and apologized to each other. _You were right, I should have listened, I’m so sorry, little brother--_

__

“That,” Avad said with a shuddering breath, “ _that _is when the Carja started to doubt my father. The Hawks of the Lodge had already tried speaking up, before the Thunderjaw appeared, and were thrown in the Sun-Ring. The Hawks, they’re--they’re machine hunters, and they’re _heroes_ to the Carja, especially since the Derangement started. They fought for _hours_ in the Sun-Ring, and my father _let_ them. He sent wave after wave of machines in after them, he let the crowd cheer for them, because he wanted to let them feel _hope_ before he crushed them with the Behemoths. That’s why he always uses them, I think, to remind my people how useless it is to wish for him to _stop.___

_____ _

“And after the Hawk’s Massacre, too few were willing to speak up, even when the Thunderjaw’s mere _existence_ made the uselessness of the sacrifices plainly seen. And those few were thrown into the Sun-Ring, and soon _no one_ was willing to speak up. Out of fear, and out of _shame_ \--because for someone to support the Red Raids and then change their mind, they have to accept that they helped to slaughter innocent people for _no reason,_ even if all they did was _watch._ ”

_____ _

Avad wrapped his arms around his chest and struggled to breathe. Ersa, who had stood by in grim silence as he spoke, went to Avad’s dresser and retrieved a handkerchief, and handed it to him.

_____ _

“Thank you,” said Avad wetly, dabbing at his face. His face-paint left red stains on the cloth.

_____ _

“I see your point about the suffering,” Ersa said gruffly. “I guess you can’t exactly put a _number_ on it. But what I want to know is why you’re tryna make _him_ king and not you, seein’ as how the Carja have gotta make nice after, and you ain’t been sent Raiding every tribe like he has.”

_____ _

“Father sent Kadaman to Raid every tribe _because_ he doesn’t want the Carja to have peace,” Avad said. “He knows by now that Kadaman will want to end the Red Raids when he ascends, so he’s made sure every tribe has seen his banner invading their homeland. He’s hoping that, as Sun-King, Kadaman will be forced to conquer or destroy the other tribes to defend the Sundom, and thus continue reaping ‘glory’ whether he wants to or not.”

_____ _

Ersa stared. “He’s fuckin’ _crazy._ ”

_____ _

“That is plainly seen,” Avad agreed. “And that’s one of the reasons why I can’t be Sun-King. As much as father’s forced Kadaman to have a terrible reputation abroad, he’s got the better one _within_ the Sundom itself; he’s a proper Carja prince, a warrior and a hunter, not a sensitive scholar like me.” He held up the tear-and-paint-stained handkerchief. “The Carja will _need_ a Sun-King that they’re proud to follow, to endure the reparations and the guilt once the Raids are ended. To remind them that they’re still _worth_ something, in spite of all they’ve done.”

_____ _

“And while he’s stayin’ here dealing with _your_ people,” Ersa concluded, “you’ll be runnin’ around usin’ that honeyed tongue of yours on everyone else? Since no one’s got a reason to blame _you_ for anythin' directly.”

_____ _

Avad nodded. “Precisely.”

_____ _

“And what’s to stop him from offin' _you_ so you can’t make nice on your brother’s behalf?”

_____ _

“I’m not that easy to have killed. I’m a member of the Radiant Line. I’m father’s least favored heir, but I _am_ still an heir. No Carja would consent to assassinate me, even on the Sun-King’s orders.”

_____ _

“But he can stick a slave with a grudge in your room and give her a fork,” Ersa pointed out with a look.

_____ _

“He can, yes,” Avad agreed. “But he’s also under the impression that Oseram are little more than wild animals, and thus incapable of reason. So there went _that_ plan. Besides, I think he saw that as more of a test than a murder attempt, and I passed.”

_____ _

“You don’t think he’ll try it again?” she asked with a cocked eyebrow. “I can name a few Oseram who wouldn’t have bothered talkin’ first.”

_____ _

Avad shook his head. “I doubt it. _I_ asked for you to be sent to my room. If father was the type to try and force me to ‘be a man’ by throwing women at me, he’d have done it long before now, and he’d have sent Carja women. There’s no other plausible excuse to have me meet with an outlander in private, with the Raids going.”

_____ _

“Why not hire an outlander assassin?” Ersa asked. “It’d be easy enough to fake like it ain’t the Carja doin’ the hirin’. Just change your clothes and shut up about the Sun for a minute.”

_____ _

“Because it would reflect badly on my father, if his own son were to be murdered as part of a conspiracy. The Carja are supposed to be _superior_ to all other tribes. My being murdered by a barbarian in a fit of rage is a tragedy, but being the target of a planned assassination by outlanders is an _insult._ ”

_____ _

“And what’s it mean when instead of gettin’ killed, you got laid?”

_____ _

“ _Ah._ Well.” Avad cleared his throat awkwardly. “It has... rather raised my esteem in my father’s eyes.”

_____ _

Ersa snickered. “I bet he’s impressed that your honeyed tongue is good for more than just sweet talkin’. You can tame barbarians with it, too.”

_____ _

Avad made a disgusted face. “You are _not_ something to be _tamed._ ”

_____ _

She laughed. “I appreciate your priorities.”

_____ _

“Priorities?” he asked with a frown.

_____ _

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll spare you the details. But seriously, you think you’ll live through this? Gettin’ rid of your dad, I mean.”

_____ _

Avad nodded. “I’ve a better chance than most, though the worst among my brothers. My part in the plan right now is to balance my reputation with my father. He needs to approve of me enough to not try to kill me--again--but not so much that he tries to send me Raiding.”

_____ _

“So people will listen when you come to talk terms.”

_____ _

“Just so.”

_____ _

“So that’s the big plan, then? Once your dad’s gone, Kadaman deals with the Carja while you go deal with everyone else?”

_____ _

“Only my best guess. My brother didn’t say how right or wrong I was.” Avad had lain on the divan with his eyes closed as he explained his reasoning, and the favored heir had smacked him with a pillow before leaving without a word, not wanting to risk giving anything away. “There’s a fair number of details that I have absolutely no idea about.”

_____ _

“Like how he’s gonna kill your dad.”

_____ _

“Or if.”

_____ _

“ _If?_ ”

_____ _

“He probably will have to,” Avad admitted. “But seeing as how I know nothing concerning _that_ part of it, I’m not going to guess. And this way, if I’m asked directly, I won’t be completely lying if I say ‘no.’”

_____ _

Ersa snorted. “You always say how bad a liar you are, but I ain’t ever seen it.”

_____ _

“I can’t be caught in a lie if I simply don’t,” Avad said with a shrug. “Besides, why would I want to lie to you?”

_____ _

She raised an eyebrow. “Well, we’re at war, and I’m a prisoner fixin’ to escape and kill all the king’s kestrels.”

_____ _

“Good thing we’re friends, then,” Avad said with a grin.

_____ _

Ersa snorted and hit him with a pillow, but she didn’t disagree.

_____ _

\---

_____ _

Two weeks later, Avad summoned Ersa to his chambers, but it was Kadaman who walked through the door instead.

_____ _

“Bad news,” the favored heir said, striding past him to the window.

_____ _

Avad set his book aside and followed. “What happened?”

_____ _

“Your pet Oseram is gone.”

_____ _

Avad stilled. “Oh?”

_____ _

His older brother nodded, looking northeast towards the Claim. “Looks like she escaped last night, just after the guard changed. She killed the man on duty--such a shame, he’d reaped such glory in the Raids, one of father’s favorites--took his armor and walked right out the front door. She’ll be well into the Claim by now.”

_____ _

Avad had to take a moment to smother a smile. “She must have enjoyed that.”

_____ _

Kadaman smirked. “I got that impression, yes.” He leaned crossed his arms and leaned against the window frame. “Still, I suppose you’ll miss her company.”

_____ _

“I will,” Avad said quietly, joining him. “I don’t suppose she escaped with more than just her life?”

_____ _

“Of course not, why would a northern barbarian care for anything but her own skin?”

_____ _

“Well, she _is_ an enemy commander,” Avad pointed out, knowing he wouldn’t be the only person to think of it. “One who has proven enough of a nuisance to draw the Sun-King’s personal attention. Surely she had some cunning plan to gain an advantage in the war.”

_____ _

“Well if she did, it didn’t work. There’s nothing missing from our maps or war plans or anything of the sort.”

_____ _

“So she left empty-handed?”

_____ _

“As far as anyone will be able to tell? Yes.”

_____ _

The two princes met each other’s eyes for a moment, then grinned.

_____ _

“What do we do now?” Avad asked.

_____ _

“We wait. Father’s sending Helis east for one last campaign before winter, and then I’ll be going north next spring, so Ersa should have plenty of time to make herself heard. We’ll know if she does based on how much I disappoint father next year.”

_____ _

“And once we know she has the clout she needs?”

_____ _

Kadaman shook his head. “It’s much too soon to start making plans for that, but… we will definitely have _options._ ” He gave his little brother a sharp look. “I need you to stop asking about it now.”

_____ _

Avad nodded. He could live with that--after all, judging by how _relaxed_ Kadaman looked for once, he knew that his decision to help Ersa was going to be instrumental to bringing about the end to their father’s reign. Or the beginning of its end, anyway.

_____ _

Avad took a breath and sighed, pushing away from the window. “Well, it seems that my afternoon is suddenly free. Care to join me?”

_____ _

His older brother snorted. “I hope you don’t expect me to live up to the caliber of company you were expecting.”

_____ _

“I don’t,” Avad said mildly, sitting back down with his book. He held out a second for his brother--he’d been hoping to entice Ersa into reading with him, and had picked out a tale of outlandish adventure that he thought she’d enjoy mocking. He figured his equally unbookish brother might appreciate it, too.

_____ _

Kadaman tilted his head, considering his brother. “You’re really going to miss her, aren’t you?”

_____ _

“She’s my friend,” Avad said. Both princes knew those were in short supply these days, with the Sundom drenched in blood and terror and mistrust.

_____ _

“Well I can’t imagine _why,_ ” Kadaman said, taking the book and sitting down. “Do you know what she _said_ to me?”

_____ _

“I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest idea,” he murmured, searching for the page he’d left off on.

_____ _

“She called me a _cad._ ”

_____ _

Avad froze.

_____ _

“ _Me._ Prince Kadaman of the Dawn’s Rising. A _cad._ ”

_____ _

He closed his eyes.

_____ _

“Can you _believe_ that?”

_____ _

“ _Yes,_ ” Avad said through gritted teeth. “I can _absolutely believe_ she’d say that.”

_____ _

“And now you’re saying you’ll _miss_ her.”

_____ _

“ _Not anymore, I won’t._ ”

_____ _

But even as Avad massaged his temples in a vain attempt to stave off a headache, he knew that was a lie.

_____ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The men of the royal family don’t really wear shirts, they just got that strappy sleeve-y bit that’s mostly there to stop the breast-plate thing from chafing. Gotta show off that “bronzed armor” of a suntan, after all.
> 
> Avad would like to thank you for coming to his TED Talk in defense of religion in the face of religion-fueled atrocities, which was interesting for my atheist ass to write. Also, the Articles of the Sun he quotes are in fact in the game as a datapoint. Speaking of which, when he says something is “plainly seen,” he’s referencing them--the First Article says that the Sun gives life to everything “as is plainly seen.” So that's him basically saying "no shit, Sherlock."
> 
> The World-Machine of the Oseram is mentioned in one or two datapoints in game. So if you haven’t chased them all down like I have, you might’ve missed it.
> 
> Avad is totally the type of person who can’t help but think of puns but he absolutely _hates_ them, which is why Kadaman absolutely _loves_ them.
> 
> Kadaman’s Raids on the Utaru took place in 3028 and 3029, but that’s not canon. It is canon that the Utaru were Raided with heavy casualties, and that they tried to offer tribute, but I made up the accounts of treachery and Kadaman’s involvement. In fact, there’s no mention of Kadaman participating in the Raids at all, but as Avad said, there’s every reason to assume he would have been. It’s also canon that the first Thunderjaw appeared in the summer of 3029; it’s the one Ahsis hunted to become Sunhawk. Since one of the hunters who died in the Massacre was Sunhawk at the time, the Thunderjaw had to appear _after_ the Massacre.
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcome as always! Seriously, even it's just a keysmash, you will make my day.


	6. Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we’re back to the future, picking up just after the first chapter. It’s late autumn. No more time-jumping in this fic, it’s all linear from here. Age update: Kadaman is 26 (born in summer), Avad is 21 (born in spring), Itamen is 3 (will be 4 in the winter), and Aloy is 16. Ersa is 30 and Erend is 23. Nasadi is between Kadaman and Avad’s ages, Jiran’s in his 50s, and Helis is in his 40s. Only Aloy and Itamen’s ages are canonical, though Itamen’s might be off a bit--in the summer of 3040 he’s 6 years old, so I got some wiggle room.
> 
> Trigger warning: if you don’t like blood, skip to the first bit of dialogue.

**3037**  
**Autumn of the twenty-first year of the thirteenth Sun-King’s reign**

Avad opened his eyes to the sight of his bedroom dripping in blood.

The walls were painted with it, the window splattered with it. The drapes hung about his bed were soaked through and dripping, the blood splashing noisily into puddles on the floor. Avad sat up to find himself lying in a pool of it on his mattress, his sheets sticky with it. The cloying coppery smell filled his nose, the taste filled his mouth, blood bubbled out past his lips and he couldn’t breathe to scream and--

“Wake up!”

Avad opened his eyes. The room was dark. He gripped his dry sheets in his fists and breathed deep through his nose, smelling only oils and incense and his own sweat.

There was a pounding on the door. “It’s a dream,” Kadaman said. “Wake up!”

“I’m awake,” Avad called. His voice was clear. After seven years of practice, his throat no longer tried to collapse in on itself in his sleep.

“I have a light,” his big brother said, and Avad hurried out of his bed to the door, fumbling for the locks in the dark. When he threw the door open, Kadaman held out a lit lantern. Avad turned to inspect his bedroom in its light.

There was no blood.

Avad took a deep, shuddering, clean breath of air and turned back to his big brother. “Thank you.”

Kadaman nodded and stepped into the room, ruffling his hair as he passed him. “I’ve got good news and great news.”

Avad gave his head a shake, struggling to keep up. He and his brother had learned long ago that the only way to not dwell on nightmares, waking or otherwise, was to be distracted immediately. It had certainly kept them sane these past ten years, though the sudden shifts in mood sometimes threatened to snap Avad’s neck.

The younger prince glanced out the dark window. “There’s no such thing as good news before sunrise.”

“There is today!” Kadaman said brightly, using a long match to light the candles around the room from his lantern’s flame. “There’s to be a hunt, and you’re on it.”

“I thought you said it was _good_ news,” Avad said with a frown. Of the two of them, Kadaman was the only one who found any joy in machine-hunting.

Kadaman looked at him. “You’ll be headed for a herd of Tramplers out by Unflinching Watch, so you’ll be gone for most of the day,” he said. _You’ll miss the Sun-Ring today,_ he didn’t say.

Avad tried to hide just how relieved that made him. Finding an acceptable excuse to not attend their father at the grand sacrifices at Sunfall was a rare treat indeed. If they avoided it too often, the Sun-King may start to suspect that they didn’t truly believe that they were witnessing the Sun’s will being carried out; he already knew they didn’t _like_ it. Machine-hunting, at least, was a ‘manly’ enough endeavor to serve as an occasional alternative.

The younger prince frowned. “I’m hardly far gone enough to _need_ a day, am I?” Kadaman hadn’t ever sprung a hunting trip on him like this before; in the past, he’d tell him they’d be going out a day or two beforehand.

“Nope,” Kadaman said, and he meant it. It wasn’t like Avad’s nightmares were in any way new. “But _I_ need _you_ to be gone to get ready for the _great_ news.”

“Which is...?”

His older brother placed his hands on his shoulders. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. Avad inhaled sharply, not quite willing to hope. “I’m leaving… the Sundom?”

Kadaman nodded, grinning wide and true. For the first time since he first held their baby brother in his arms, Avad felt himself crying tears of joy.

“It’s almost over,” he whispered, and his brother hugged him close. “We won’t have to _watch_ anymore.”

“One more day,” Kadaman said roughly into his hair. “You’re leaving at dusk tomorrow, so I need you to endure _one more day_ for me, then you can go out there and _end it_.”

Avad nodded into his brother’s shoulder. Before, he had guessed that he’d be sent out only _after_ they had ousted their father, but in the wake of Ersa’s return to the Claim, a better option had presented itself. She had allied herself with warlords and rallied together a company of freebooters, and together they had held the line against Kadaman’s spring campaign. They’d made extensive use of Oseram tinkercraft to boobytrap abandoned towns and ruins that the Red Raiders were likely to camp in. Kadaman’s men had suffered heavy losses before they even sighted the enemy, and reading between the lines of the reports revealed to Avad that he’d tried to have his small contingent of kestrels take the brunt of those losses after the first of the explosions. But even still, the whole of his force took a beating before they’d gotten to fire their first arrow. Kadaman himself had more than one near miss.

Avad supposed Ersa _had_ warned them that she wasn’t going to be particular.

Kadaman had still returned with slaves and, technically speaking, another successful Raid under his belt. But in the two years since, the Oseram had held the special attention of his father--or more accurately, his Champion Helis and his kestrel legions. The man was so incensed that the Oseram had refused to take the Red Raids lying down that he was more focused on killing the enemy than capturing slaves for sacrifice, earning him the title of Stacker of Corpses among the northern tribe.

But even in the face of such ferocity, Ersa’s freebooters had continued to mount the best defense against the Red Raids outside of the Nora’s Sacred Land.

And so, in light of Ersa’s success, it had been decided that Avad would get in touch with his old friend, and together they’d march to the gates of Holy Meridian. Kadaman, with a foreign army led by his brother at his back, would demand their father abdicate or die. Avad was under no illusions which option the Mad Sun-King would choose.

“I don’t like leaving you behind,” Avad sniffed.

“You won’t need to worry about me,” Kadaman chided, releasing him to ruffle his hair. “Besides, it’s _my_ job to look after _you,_ little brother.”

“I’m also worried about Itamen. What if father decides it’s _his_ turn to watch, with me gone?” Jiran had waited until Avad was fifteen to demand his attendance at the Sun-Ring, but once he discovered his middle son’s escape, who could predict what a madman would do?

“Itamen has Nasadi, and she has more influence than you know,” Kadaman said, fetching a handkerchief from his dresser. “She could keep him safe all by herself if she had to. Now hush and get dressed for your hunt.”

“You’re not coming?” Avad asked, snatching the handkerchief before Kadaman could wipe his face for him.

“Nope, I’ll be busy making sure you can get away clean tomorrow. Need to make sure everyone’s nice and distracted.”

Avad made a face. “I’m not going to see you for _months,_ and you’re going to make me hunt alone with Ahsis? _Really?_ ”

Kadaman cocked an eyebrow. “Yes really, he’s our Sunhawk, the Sunhawk attends the royal family on hunts, why are you surprised by this?”

“I’m not surprised, I’m just disappointed.” Avad glared. “In _you._ For making me hunt with _Ahsis._ ”

“Come now, little brother, Ahsis is a fine hunter.”

“He’s also an--” Avad snapped his mouth shut.

“He’s also what now? An idiot? An arrogant bastard?” Kadaman grinned like a loon. “Dare I say it, is _Ahsis_ an _ass?_ ”

“An--an inconsiderate man that I _do not like spending time with._ ”

“You were so _close,_ little brother.”

“You only don’t mind him too much because you actually _like_ hunting,” Avad complained. “Without him along I _might_ tolerate it. _Might._ ”

“True enough,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry though; you’ve a few hours before the hunt is on.” He smiled at the younger man, obnoxiously bright. “Maybe one of the other Hawks will bag Redmaw by then!”

Avad glared. “You’ve _betrayed_ me, Kadaman.”

The older prince just laughed. “Oh, that reminds me,” he said, and looked his little brother in the eye. “Don’t be foolish.”

Avad blinked. “What?”

Kadaman put his hands on his hips. “On your hunt, don’t be foolish. You’re supposed to leave tomorrow, and if you get hurt today it will make all my efforts for naught and that would be _really embarrassing._ ”

Avad rolled his eyes. “We’re hardly going to go after _Redmaw._ I’ll be fine.”

“It bears repeating though.” He shoved a finger in his face. “No foolishness is allowed. None at all.”

Avad scowled, knocking his hand away. “I’m not a _child._ ”

“That also goes for when you get back, too.”

“There’s hardly machines in the palace to be foolish _with!_ ”

Kadaman narrowed his eyes. “No, but you remember that whole thing with that slave girl?”

Avad crossed his arms. “You mean the Oseram commander that I got out of the Sun-Ring who is now the cornerstone of our plan to end the Red Raids?” he asked, only _slightly_ smug.

Kadaman looked unamused. “No, I mean the part where you suggested to father that someone he _personally_ marked for death should be allowed to live, and then had her sent to your rooms where she had every reason to assume you’d _rape her_ after she killed two kestrals with her hands bound, and then you let her nearly _garrote you with a fork._ ”

“She didn’t try to garrote me, she tried to _stab_ me.”

“I like how you say that like it makes it _better,_ ” Kadaman snorted. “But look, just… don’t be foolish like that again, alright? I know you _hate_ having to _watch_ much more than I do, but I _need_ you to hang on for just _one more day,_ for me. For the whole Sundom, and all the other tribes. You’ve got the hunt to excuse you from being there today, so just shore up your nerves and focus on making it through tomorrow _quietly,_ no matter what happens. And before you know it, you’ll be out of here and helping to end this abomination for _good._ ”

“I _know,_ Kadaman,” said Avad. “I don’t need to know the _whole_ plan in order to know that you _have_ one. I trust you.”

The older brother looked unconvinced. “Do you?”

The younger brother simply said, “You are my king.”

Kadaman wrapped him up in another hug.

“Oh,” he said, stepping back and pulling something small from a pouch on his belt. “Before I forget, here.”

Avad took the flat, palm-sized glass disk. It had teardrop-shaped holes carved through it in a swirling pattern, but the tapered points of the drops were all slightly off-kilter.

“A… carved machine lens?” Avad asked.

“A challenge lens,” Kadaman explained. “They’re made in pairs so they match up perfectly. Tomorrow after the Sun-Ring, a servant will come here to bring you a change of clothes. Wear them and take four of your honor guards--they know which ones--to the tent market out by the gates. One of the tents will have two lit lanterns hanging from it--make sure you’re there _before_ sunset. Inside will be a man with the twin to this one. No matter what you may see, you _must_ trust him with your life.”

Avad frowned. “What if someone steals his lens and takes his place?”

Kadman shook his head. “They won’t, not with this man. You’ll understand when you meet him. Just put aside your preconceptions and trust him like you would me.”

Avad looked at him sharply. “You expect me to trust a stranger with the future of the entire Sundom?”

“Yes, I do,” Kadaman said, meeting his gaze. “Because _I’m_ already trusting him with it.”

Avad took a deep breath. “As you wish.” He frowned and looked out the window. “I’m going to miss Itamen’s name day.”

“I already got a gift from you for him; Nasadi has it.”

Avad raised an eyebrow. “Is _that_ why they met us at Blazon Arch the other day?” Kadaman had been there to inspect the troops, and had scheduled it far enough in advance to send an invitation to Nasadi. The Queen Consort had taken Itamen there from Meridian on a rare field trip, and the four of them had stolen a few hours to themselves on the lake shore.

Kadaman smiled sadly. “I knew you were going to miss him. This warm snap hitting us was the Sun’s own blessing, so close to winter. Even more so since it ought to at least last through tomorrow night, so you should be warm enough ‘til you reach the Claim.”

Avad huffed a laugh. “As though we needed more proof that the Sun has set on father’s reign.”

“Well, more proof can’t hurt, can it?”

Avad smiled briefly, before it slipped away. “I’ll miss you too, big brother.”

“Don’t let that distract you.”

“I won’t,” Avad promised.

Kadaman raised his finger again. “And _don’t be foolish._ ”

“I _won’t._ ”

“Say it.”

Avad rolled his eyes. “Kadaman--”

The older prince pounced, putting him in a headlock “ _Say it!_ ”

Avad struggled against his grip. Kadaman gave him a noogie. “Ack--you-- _all right!_ I won’t be foolish! I promise!”

The older prince released him with a grin. “That’s _better._ ”

Avad glared as he rubbed his head. “I take it back, I won’t miss you at _all._ ”

“I know you don’t mean that, little brother,” Kadaman said, and planted an obnoxiously wet kiss on his cheek before heading for the door. “Have fun on your hunt!”

“I won’t!” Avad called, wiping his disgusting brother’s spit off his face. “ _Not even a little bit!_ ”

“ _I love you, too!_ ”

Kadaman gave his little brother a jaunty wave as he shut the door. Avad scowled after him, annoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Avad. I just noticed that I keep ending chapters with him getting razzed, but it’s just such a convenient way to wrap things up.
> 
> Also I’m not sure if I’d recommend embracing emotional whiplash as a coping mechanism for dealing with an emotionally abusive parent and their horribly oppressive and war crime-fueled regime, but the boys are doing their best.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are love and they keep me going!


	7. Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was checking some in-game dialogue for an unrelated reason and guess who said they were on Avad’s honor guard? You know, the honor guard that canonically travelled with Avad when he left the Sundom? And now I get to play with them? Well, you’ll find out!

Prince Avad hated to admit it, but Sunhawk Ahsis was, in fact, a _very_ fine hunter.

Which was hardly a surprise--the man had successfully killed a Thunderjaw before the beast even had a name. He’d known nothing about its overwhelming arsenal when he’d gone after it, and he managed to not only survive but turn its own weapons against it. That hunt had served as a testament to his cunning, skill, resourcefulness, and raw nerve, and had rightfully made him Sunhawk.

Of course, Ahsis had then ordered a contingent of slaves to drag the carcass through the Jewel all the way back to Meridian, and forced them to not only figure out how to fit it through the doors of the Hunter’s Lodge, but also how to hang the thing artfully above the bar, so he was still an ass.

But he knew his way around a bow and spear better than anyone Avad had witnessed hunting, save maybe Kadaman. The way he moved as he took down the machines spoke of his relentlessness and dedication to his craft. Every thrust was precise and sure, every arrow found its mark.

Avad didn’t enjoy machine-hunting himself, but he did like to watch. There was a lot he could tell about a person when they fought for their lives, when all pretenses were dropped in the name of survival. And watching someone face a machine by choice instead of in the Sun-Ring allowed his mind to pick apart every move without being stymied by the inherent horror of it. Kadaman liked to hear what Avad thought of his technique, and laughed when Avad informed him that he fought like he was too stupid to realize that he was facing a thing of metal and wire, not flesh and blood. Kadaman often told his little brother that if he could translate what he could see into action, he’d be the greatest hunter in the Sundom.

Ahsis never asked for his opinion, barely hiding his disdain for the bookish prince who was, after all, still a prince. Avad had never hunted with Helis--he’d rather bear witness to the Sun-Ring than gain any further insight into how _that_ man’s mind worked.

Between Kadaman, Ahsis, and Helis, why did two out of three of the Sundom’s greatest warriors have to be such complete bastards?

While Avad could tell Ahsis had wanted to roll his eyes at his prince’s idleness, he could also see that the man preferred to hunt alone anyway, so he was unlikely to complain aloud. Avad and his honor guard stood ready to assist if needed, though the Sunhawk was the sort of man who would sneer at any such offers--now that he thought about it, in all the times he’d consented to go hunting, he’d never once met Ahsis’s Thrush. And he had merely tolerated Kadaman’s presence, on previous outings, despite his brother being both an enthusiastic and skilled hunter. Clearly the man liked showing off, so why he bothered being offended at Avad’s willingness to be a passive audience was a mystery.

And so Avad had spent most of the long day watching Ahsis hunt from a distance. He’d taken down a Watcher or two to help clear the path, and to lend some small veneer of truth to the idea that he’d _wanted_ to go hunting today. The lie wouldn’t need to hold up for long, but there was no sense in making his disinterest _too_ obvious.

After all, he had promised his brother that he wouldn’t be foolish.

Once the Tramplers were hunted to a one (no need to preserve the population of machine herds like with animals), the Sunhawk went south across the river, heading back to Meridian and his Lodge, while the prince and his honor guard went west. Over the past year and a half, Kadaman had been either replacing his guards with his own hand-picked officers, or having his existing guardsmen trained in command. This way, when they went with Avad to the Oseram, they could bring their expertise in Carja tactics with them and see how they could be matched with Ersa’s might.

Avad suspected that they had been informed of the plan before he had--after all, no one paid much attention to guards, so they were unlikely to need to lie, and would probably be better at it than him anyway. And if something _had_ gone awry for Kadaman before his plans were ready, he knew Avad would follow his honor guards’ lead without question.

Thankfully, his big brother’s plans seemed to be unfolding exactly as he’d intended.

So Avad and his honor guard made their way leisurely back to Sunfall in companionable silence. They ran afoul of a Longleg not far from the great Sun-Ring itself, but it was easily dealt with. As they passed through the great archways leading up to the fortress, Avad noticed that the tent market was as subdued now as they were in the morning when they had left. The prince had always retired to his chambers after the sacrifices, so he supposed this must be normal--whether worn down by the bloodshed or coming off a religious high, it must be difficult to be energetic after bearing witness to the sacrifices in the Sun-Ring.

As they climbed the ramp towards the fortress proper, Helis emerged from the entranceway at its end. Avad easily smothered a frown--after all, he wasn’t going to have to deal with the man for much longer. He only had to tolerate this butcher for one more day.

The first of the kestrels approached them swiftly, unaccompanied by an honor guard of his own. Not that Avad thought he’d had any honor _to_ guard, but in truth, the Sun-King’s chosen Champion was expected to _need_ no guards, and Helis certainly lived up to those expectations. Judging by the excited glint in his cold, grey eyes, Avad suspected he was about to be regaled with tales of the day’s atrocities that he had been absent for.

They met near the top of the ramp, leaving ample space between them. The prince and the Champion detested each other so much that neither had ever been able to hide it, though they were forced by his father to remain civil. Avad sometimes wondered if Helis were _jealous_ of him, or at least his paternity. Helis himself was nobly born, of course, but from what little insight Avad had into his mind, he suspected his father’s Champion saw himself as a truer and more deserving heir to Jiran’s legacy than any of his sons, or at least more so than his middle son.

On that point, Avad agreed with the butcher with the whole of his heart.

“Helis,” he greeted coolly.

“Prince Avad,” the giant greeted with a smile that set the prince’s teeth on edge. “You missed all the excitement today.”

“I found excitement of my own,” he said. “What do you want, Helis?”

The kestrel raised his eyebrows in an attempt to feign hurt. He was very, very bad at it. “Is it so odd for the Sun-King’s Champion to wish to greet his lord’s son?”

“You see me most days,” Avad replied. “And you’ve never come to greet me after a hunt before. So, I ask again; what do you want?”

“Why, to share news, my prince,” Helis said.

 _You reminiscing about slaughter is not news,_ the prince thought, fighting to keep the disgust he felt off his face. “Then share it, so we may both be on our way.”

That smile again. “Today at the Sun-Ring, your brother demanded my lord end the sacrifices, and so will be sacrificed himself tomorrow.”

Behind him, one of Avad’s honor guards gasped. Avad shot him a warning look, then turned back to Helis. “My apologies, we just had an encounter with a Longleg barely ten minutes ago, and my ears must still be ringing. Could you repeat that?”

The kestrel’s eyes glittered with malice. “Kadaman demanded that your father end the Red Raids, and your father sentenced him to die.”

Avad shook his head violently to clear it. “I--sorry, I think I took a bigger hit than I realized. Say that again, please?”

Helis stepped closer, grinning now, looking positively mad with joy. “You’re brother, Prince Kadaman, _formerly_ of the Dawn’s Rising,” he said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “publically _ordered_ His Luminance to stop the--how did he say it?--‘senseless and idiotic abomination’ that he called the Red Raids, and the holy rites within the Sun-Ring. And as atonement for this sacrilege, your divine father has demanded his royal blood be spilled tomorrow under the noonday Sun.”

Avad shook his head again.

Then he shook it harder.

“No,” he whispered, because this was _impossible._ Ten long years they had endured; why would Kadaman decide _now,_ this day of all days, to lose his temper? _‘Just one more day.’_

“Yes,” Helis said, sounding smug. He was looking at the prince not just with glee, but anticipation.

Frost took root in Avad’s spine. With one ‘unworthy’ prince sentenced to die, Helis need only goad the weakling Avad into incriminating himself in order to… what? Have his father announce that Helis was secretly his son all along, despite them being only ten years apart in age? Proclaim that the Sun had chosen Helis to not only be his Champion, but the beginning of a new Radiant Line?

Or maybe Helis simply wanted the runt of the royal litter to die, so that Jiran could mold little Itamen into a man after his own image, without the poisonously moral influence of his two older brothers.

Avad had only been an older brother himself for four years, but he would _not_ fail Itamen now. Kadaman had taught him too well.

“I,” Avad started, then swallowed. “I can hardly believe that my brother would commit such an act of treason.” Because it was treason only, technically, against a mortal king, not sacrilege against the Sun itself, or its _true_ Sun-King.

“You can’t, can you?” Helis asked. His pale, dead eyes were like a Sawtooth’s, unblinkingly searching for an opening.

“Of course not. Why would he ever say--” _\--that out loud?_ Avad cut off his dangerously worded sentence, snapping his head to the right to look at the Sun-Ring. From this high up the ramp he could see the cage hanging above it, empty.

“He’s in the dungeon, for now,” Helis informed him, still smiling. “I suppose you could go see him? If you wanted.”

Avad didn’t answer, no longer trusting himself to speak. He stepped around the kestrel and marched into the fort, his honor guard hurrying to keep up. The artisans inside stared silently at their prince as he passed through. At the top of the first set of stairs stood Blameless Marad. He wasn’t smiling for once, but Avad supposed that his father’s spymaster knew better than to gloat in public. He bowed low as the prince stormed past and into the palace.

Avad ignored them all.

He headed for his chambers, _not_ the dungeons. He was not about to step into such an _obvious_ trap--being shocked that his brother was a traitor was acceptable, but to do anything that might show he would miss him if he died? That he held any bit of love or sympathy for a condemned man? That would be _foolish,_ and he had promised Kadaman that he _wouldn’t_ be.

When Avad turned into the wing where the royal family’s private chambers were, he noted that there were no guards in front of Kadaman’s room. His brother’s honor guard consisted of twelve men, with six on shift at a time. He supposed they were all being questioned, now. Avad knew that each and every one of them would gladly die before betraying their prince’s plan.

Because this--all of this--was part of the plan. Kadaman said he was going to cause a distraction, didn’t he? He’d sent Avad away because he didn’t want to risk him speaking up in his defense to their father, or worse, offering his support. Helis ambushing him with the news was a factor he couldn’t have predicted, but it had worked out--better that idiotic fanatic try to implicate him than Blameless Marad, who Avad suspected was on his way to do exactly that before being overtaken by the Champion.

And of course his brother had told Avad _none_ of this, because Avad needed to be _surprised_ when he was told about what Kadaman’s sentence was. And just because he understood the necessity of it didn’t mean he was any less _angry_ at his brother, for making him worry so. For a second there, he had actually _believed_ the older prince was going to be executed.

The next time Avad saw his big brother he was going to _kill him._

Avad’s chamber was flanked by two more of his honor guard. They were two of the newer ones, imported from amongst Kadaman’s commanding officers. No one besides they and Avad’s four guards from the day were in sight. Avad lay his hand on the door, not opening it just yet.

“Janeva,” he murmured to one of the chamber guards. “Any word?”

The smooth-faced guard looked straight ahead, clenching his jaw. He must have heard what had happened with his former liege hours ago, and had worked his way past being shocked into being angry. “Not yet, your Radiance.”

Avad nodded, and to the four who had accompanied him today, he said “Go about your duties.”

The four guards saluted and left, and Avad entered his chambers. Technically they should have dismissed themselves once they entered the palace, but who could blame them for being overprotective of _their_ prince when they’d just been told _another_ prince had just been sentenced to death?

Not that Kadaman was _actually_ going to die tomorrow. He would escape tonight, from the dungeons, and go--where? The Claim, ahead of Avad, perhaps by some circuitous route so he’d meet up with him after he’d recruited Ersa’s freebooters. Or to the Banuk, to form some sort of strike force, a surprise sneak attack to reach their father while he was distracted by the Oseram at their door. Maybe he’d go to the Sacred Land-- _no one_ would expect that, because it was _ridiculous,_ but perhaps Kadaman had made a deal with a Nora slave, the most desperate of his father’s prisoners to get back to their homeland, and he wouldn’t be able to get them to go to Meridian _with_ him, but he could hide there awhile, perhaps. Or maybe--maybe--

 _Where_ Kadaman planned to escape to didn't matter, the fact that he _would_ meant that, as promised, the palace would be well distracted tomorrow for _Avad’s_ escape.

… But if _Kadaman_ escaped, how could Avad? As soon as Kadaman was found to be missing, his father would strip him of his honor guard and have kestrels shadowing his every move for his ‘safety.’ And Kadaman had looked him right in the face this morning and said ‘you’re leaving tomorrow,’ and Avad would have _known_ if that was a lie, so clearly _he_ was the one leaving, and therefore Kadaman _wasn’t._

So then… so then Kadaman would stay behind, somehow. For some _reason._ He was an accomplished machine-hunter, he could impress their father in the Sun-Ring, give him an excuse to spare his life. He would be locked up of course, for his insolence, but he’d be _alive._ Father could never risk _actually_ killing a member of the Radiant Line, especially not _Kadaman,_ especially not in the _Sun-Ring._ He’d escape later, over the winter, while Avad was in the Claim. Somehow. Or he’d just wait quietly in the dungeon for Avad to liberate Meridian in his name.

Except--that would mean _Avad_ would have to kill their father, and to do that, he’d have to kill Helis first, which Avad _knew_ he simply _could not do._ Maybe Kadaman would goad Helis into challenging him to a duel while imprisoned? And maybe, somehow, for some reason, their father wouldn’t kill him for _that._ Or perhaps--

There was a knock on the door. Avad, who had been pacing long enough that his feet hurt, tripped and went tumbling down, half landing on the divan before falling to the floor. He stood and forced himself to straighten his clothes before striding to the door and throwing it open.

The servant girl outside his room jumped in surprise. She must be new; Avad didn’t recognize her. She was pushing a serving cart bearing a covered plate. His dinner, the prince realized. He stood aside and let her in, closing the door behind her as she entered and set his food on his table. He followed, watching her closely.

When she took the cover off of his plate and moved to put it back on the cart, he snatched it from her hand and checked the inside. No note attached, nothing etched into the metal.

“Was there anything else?” he asked her.

“N-no, your Radiance,” she said nervously, and glanced at the closed door. Avad suddenly realized--she was a pretty young girl, behind a closed door with a prince who wasn’t acting very rationally. Who was generally considered a gentleman but who had, at one time, had a palace slave sent to his rooms for hours on end. And who, she would think, might want some ‘comfort’ in the wake of learning about his brother’s (allegedly) impending death.

“My apologies,” Avad said, and placed the cover on her cart. “If anything else is sent up here, you don’t have to be the one to bring it.”

“Your Radiance?”

“Thank you for bringing me my dinner,” he said as he sat down at his table, not looking at her. “You may go.”

She hesitated a moment, but left when he pointedly picked up his fork and stared at his food. When the door closed behind her, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing. He _wasn’t_ acting rationally. He was jumping at shadows, hoping for a secret message to be hidden in his _dinner._ Some key piece of information that would make his brother’s plan plainly seen.

 _If he needed me to know,_ Avad reminded himself, _he’d tell me._ Kadaman had never bothered using codes or cleverly hidden puzzles to give his little brother what little information he’d been willing to share. He’d just gotten him behind a closed door and spoken plainly. If and when Avad needed more information, he’d have someone come in here and do the same thing.

Kadaman had acted _deliberately_ today. Everything was going according to his plan. Nothing was wrong. He was going to be _fine._ Avad just had to trust his king, and follow his orders. _‘Don’t be foolish,’_ Kadaman had said.

He opened his eyes and ate his dinner. And if he chewed more thoroughly than normal, and if he checked under his plate when he was done, well. No one was there to see him being foolish.

Then he checked under his pillows and in his drawers, just to pass the time, and upon finding nothing he lay in his bed and willed himself to sleep. He left his bedroom door unlocked, but he slept through the night, uninterrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Janeva! Woot!
> 
> Confession time: I had initially planned on making this and the next two chapters be one single chapter, because I didn’t want to leave you guys hanging in the middle of what’s going to be a major dissociative episode for our boy. But… it would be way too long, and I need some buffer to keep writing this, soooo… have fun? I can’t even properly apologize, because I am a terrible person who was grinning like a loon while writing this whole part, but I am just a little bit sorry that it’s gonna take some IRL time to get through this. Sorry folks, but I desperately need that buffer, especially after barely cranking out a single chapter this past week.
> 
> As always, any and all comments and kudos are welcome!


	8. Solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protip: if, after reading through a chapter, you look at the title and start yelling “YOU SON OF A BITCH,” then I know I’m doing something right.
> 
> Trigger warning: The next couple chapters feature a major dissociative episode. Chapter 9 is when it will end, so if you don’t want to be left hanging in the middle of it, wait til then to read through it all. I’ll also have a heads up in the chapter notes when it’s coming to an end. I’ve got it all written out already, so there’s no guesswork on this. And to be clear, there may be other dissociative episodes in this fic, but nothing like this.

For once, Avad didn’t remember what he’d dreamt about, but he woke up shaking. He had to wait an hour before his hands were steady enough to apply his face-paint for the day.

Breakfast was brought to him by Timor, who had waited on him and his brother both for years, but he only brought him his food and bowed before leaving. No clues hidden in this meal, either.

What was Kadaman doing? They were running out of _time._

Far too soon, there was a knock on his door, and Janeva stood at attention on the other side.

“His Luminance Sun-King Jiran requests you attend him at the Sun-Ring at once,” recited the guard.

Avad stared. “It’s not yet noon.” Usually the _first_ sacrifice was at noon, with the rest happening over the course of the afternoon. It was only midmorning. If anyone was to be calling on him right now, it should be his _brother,_ not his father.

Janeva looked grim. “His honor guard are going first, your Radiance.”

Avad remembered--his brother was to be sacrificed _at_ noon.

Avad said, “Oh.” If he’d known _that,_ he would have skipped breakfast.

When he stepped forward to go with him, Janeva grimaced. “Your circlet?” the guard prompted.

Avad stopped. Went back to his bedroom, put on his circlet, came back out. And followed… some number of his honor guard from the residential wing to the throne room. Then he walked by himself to the royal balcony overlooking the Sun-Ring.

Sun-King Jiran sat on his throne, front and center, as usual. To Jiran’s left stood his Champion Helis, the Stacker of Corpses. To _his_ left stood Blameless Marad, the Sun-King’s master of spies.

To the Sun-King’s right stood no one. Because that was where Kadaman always stood. At their father’s right hand, the place of favor. The place he always _hated_ to be, but _had_ to be, for his plan to work.

The plan.

This was all part of the plan.

Wasn’t it?

Prince Avad of the Dawn’s Rising stepped up and stood at his father’s right hand.

“Good morning, father,” he heard himself say.

Jiran _humphed._ “It will be.”

Any reply to _that_ would be foolish, so he said nothing.

Avad had been looking at the cage, but now he made himself _see_ it.

Kadaman was in there.

He was standing with his back to the royal balcony, still dressed like a prince; finely made trousers, shining cross-armor--by the Shadow, he still wore his _sword_ on his hip. His fair haired-head was tilted back and he held his hands palms up towards the sky. Every Carja knew that pose--he was praying.

Jiran stood from his throne and approached the balcony’s edge holding his hands up to silence the crowd. He needn’t have bothered; the audience today was large, but still. Not a single inch of the benches were empty. Had his kestrels round up the citizens to fill the stands, or had there been such a commotion over Kadaman’s sentencing that they’d had to turn people away?

“My people,” the thirteenth Sun-King said in a thundering voice, and Avad could not shut it out. “My Carja. Though the Sun shines as bright and true as ever, today is a day that belongs to the Shadow. Because today, the Sun has demanded a sacrifice of _me._

“Yes,” he assured them, “even the Sun-King must atone for his sins. For though I am the Speaker of the Sun, I have made a _grave_ error in judgement. I have chosen my heir poorly, and in doing so, I have left you, my Carja, vulnerable to weakness, to cowardice, and to _sacrilege._

“And so, on this day, the Sun has demanded of me the lifeblood of my eldest son, my favored heir, my Kadaman. And not only his, but that of his co-conspirators, whose only crime was to trust that their Sun-King would make not even a _single_ error. The deaths of these twelve men are each a mark of shame upon my soul, for they are each evidence that I have failed in my divine purpose.

“So weep for me, my Carja. Though the Sun’s gaze is harsh and unwavering, weep for me, and may your tears wash me free of all sin. _By the Light of the Sun!”_

Avad struggled against the urge to vomit, regretting every bite of his breakfast. Trust his father to demand his people comfort the executioner for having to deal with blood getting on his robes.

But at least it wouldn’t be Kadaman’s blood. It was sinful to be happy that _his_ life would be spared when twelve other lives were about to die, but surely he was allowed such private thoughts about his own _brother?_ Especially when those twelve men were sworn to die to protect him? Avad had no idea what his brother _could_ do, but he _would_ do _something._ He _had_ to. He’d _promised_ they’d make it out of this _together._

… He _had_ promised that at some point, hadn’t he?

Jiran sat back down on his throne to the sound of scattered applause--given out of reflex more than anything else. The Sun-Priests began their hymn, voices clearer than ever in the silent arena, as the first of Kadaman’s honor guard was led into the Sun-Ring. Avad couldn’t see his face to tell which one it was, but he knew all their names. He’d been allowed his armor and his halberd.

Avad was looking down at himself from above. Kadaman had said this happened to him sometimes, when he stood on this spot. Upon hearing it described, Avad had wondered if it was the grace of the Sun granting him a reprieve, sparing the rightful king from the grisly scenes in the Sun-Ring.

Avad _hated_ it. He never _wanted_ to watch, he _needed_ to. And today he _knew_ the people who were about to die, he knew their _names,_ and that shouldn’t _matter_ but it _did,_ so now more than ever he _had_ to watch, to bear witness, because everyone who died in this damned Sun-Ring deserved to have their last moments alive _seen_ and _remembered_ by someone who _gave a damn,_ who knew that they were _people_ who _deserved_ to live even when reduced to blind panic in the face of certain death, someone to swear to them they could and _would_ make this all _stop._ Even though he was too much of a coward to watch their truly final moments, he at least had to _try._

And it had to be _Avad_ who watched, because _Kadaman_ was the one who _needed_ this mercy. Because one day soon the Carja would see that his brother was the one true Sun-King, and he would need all the strength he could scrape together to lead them out of this mess. To carry out the _plan._

Except.

_‘I’ll be busy making sure you can get away clean tomorrow. Need to make sure everyone’s nice and distracted.’_

This wasn’t part of the plan. This _was_ the plan.

To say the sacrifice of a member of the Radiant Line in the Sun-Ring would cause a distraction was putting it mildly. And with Kadaman dead, so too died any loose ends. Avad would find no resistance when he made his escape, and no temptation to stay behind. The Sundom might even be in open rebellion by the time he returned.

_‘Just shore up your nerves and focus on making it through tomorrow quietly, no matter what happens.’_

It was clean.

_‘I don’t like leaving you behind.’_

_‘You won’t need to worry about me.’_

It was clear.

_‘I’ll miss you too, big brother.’_

_‘Don’t let that distract you.’_

It was addition by subtraction.

_‘I need you to endure one more day for me, then you can go out there and end it.’_

It was the worst thing Kadaman could have done to him.

Avad’s face was wet with tears, though he had no idea when he’d started crying. His face-paint must be running, red like blood. In the arena below were bodies. Avad couldn’t count them, but he knew that his father left them there on purpose, just to hurt his big brother. Enslaved Banuk shamans were restraining the Behemoth again, getting ready for the next sacrifice.

He turned his head away to his left, forgetting that Jiran would be there, since he was standing on the wrong side of the throne. The Sun-King was. Eating. A servant stood next to his throne holding a tray of snacks--squares of cheese, berries, small bites of meat. Jiran picked over them, hands fluttering as he thought of nothing more pressing than which of the miniature delicacies before him was good enough to eat.

Avad wanted to smack that tray to the ground. He wanted to yell at his father, to rage like Kadaman had gotten to rage, before he’d been arrested by Helis and the other kestrels. To grab him by the shoulders and _shake him_ until the madness fell right out of his head. He wanted Janeva to have reminded him to grab his sword so he could _cut him down,_ because while Kadaman had _chosen_ to do _this,_ it was still all this man’s fault that his brother was about to die.

_‘And don’t be foolish.’_

_‘I won’t.’_

Avad turned back to the Sun-Ring. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. Were the Sun-Priests singing again? What was the crowd doing?

His father was standing up. Another speech. He couldn’t hear it. It was high noon. The main event was about to--

Avad looked to the cage. His brother had his back to them still, pressed against the wall of the cage, arms stretched to either side, hands gripping the bars. He had a plan, clearly, but Avad knew with prophetic certainty that he wasn’t planning to _survive._

The cage dropped, the bottom fell out, but Kadaman didn’t--he’d braced his feet against the cage wall. A moment later he dropped out under his own power and landed on his feet. The restraints on the Behemoth were already starting to snap.

He turned, the etched Glinthawk lens burning bright on his circlet, first worn by Araman the Founder himself before his grandson had fashioned a grand machine-metal crown. The prince drew his sword--that magnificent ancient scimitar, wielded by seven Sun-Kings before him--and pointed it accusingly at Jiran. The blade flashed with such a blinding light, Kadaman might have been weidling a ray of sunshine.

_My king,_ Avad thought, crying still.

“Today I will _die_ for the ego of a mad so-called _king!”_ the one true Sun-King announced, his voice loud and clear. The only other noise in the arena was the sound of snapping cables as the Behemoth broke free.

_Kadaman._

His burning gaze swept across the crowd. “But I will _fight_ for the honor of _all_ Carja!"

_Big brother._

He turned just as the Behemoth charged. His honor guard must have focused on destroying the machine’s force loaders, and had gotten all but one.

Kadaman dodged out of the way. He was a great hunter, and even with nothing but a sword--especially a sword of the Old Ones--he could best a crippled Behemoth.

Avad knew he wouldn’t. He said he was going to die today, and he would. But first, he would make them all _watch._

Kadaman took cover behind a pillar as the machine summoned rocks to throw at him, then charged at it himself. His sword cut cleanly through the final force loader on the machine’s head as it reared up, and the explosion of its destruction sent him flying into the Sun-Ring’s wall. He pushed off of it and ran for the Sun-Ring’s center, not for the cover of the pillars, even as the machine chased him with rocks flung with its grinding jaws--Kadaman would not risk his people getting hit by the crossfire. Like the Hawks of the Lodge, he’d protect them even as they gathered to watch him die.

The Behemoth charged, and Avad knew the fight was coming to an end. There would be no great hours-long battle into the night. Because Avad was supposed to leave for the Claim at dusk, and that was why Kadaman was in the Sun-Ring in the first place. To cause a _distraction_ for _him._

Kadaman sidestepped the Behemoth, and it turned and reared up on its back legs. He thrust his sword into its underside, and the machine skewered itself on it with its own weight when it bore down on him. His sword must have pierced its heart, because the red light in its eyes died just before it’s great weight crashed down on him.

As the Behemoth’s corpse killed his brother, Avad did not look away.

The roar was back in his ears, but he didn’t know if it was the crowd or not. He blinked, and a kestrel was standing in front of him holding Kadaman’s sword. But that wasn’t right, the sword was still in the Sun-Ring, buried in the Behemoth that had just--

The kestrel kneeled, and Avad could see the dead machine, tipped on its side, and a great smear of cooling blood on the spot where it had fallen.

His father was standing, giving another speech. The kneeling kestrel presented Kadaman’s sword. His father stopped speaking and looked at him expectantly, so he took it.

His father said something to him, something--something important, about a circlet, and then he turned to speak with Helis.

Avad had a sword in his hands and his father’s back was to him.

_‘I’m also worried about Itamen. What if father decides it’s his turn to watch, with me gone?’_

Helis bowed deeply. For a moment, he couldn’t see what Avad was doing at all.

_‘Itamen has Nasadi, and she has more influence than you know. She could keep him safe all by herself if she had to.’_

Helis straightened and moved to follow his father away, but stopped upon seeing Avad. He narrowed his eyes and stalked over to him, glaring down his nose at the new Prince of the Dawn’s Rising.

“You would weep for a _traitor?”_ he hissed.

Avad glared dully back at him, his face streaked with red tears.

“I weep for my _king,”_ said Avad, though a simple ‘yes’ would have been true, too, after everything Kadaman had just done to him.

Helis’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head in rage, before he turned away with a sneer. Behind him, Blameless Marad stood at the balcony’s edge, gaze fixed on the Sun-Ring.

Avad hung his dead brother’s sword from his waist and went back to his chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the datapoint “The Solution:”  
> Ted Faro: I’ve been taking a hard look at the project. In the end it’s simple. It’s clean. It’s clear. It’s erasure. It’s addition by subtraction. I can make it better, Lis. With a single stroke, make it all go away.
> 
> Remember back in the day when I used to end chapters with Avad being on the receiving end of a sick burn? Good times.
> 
> Also I have no idea what to call that chest armor thing Avad wears, so I went with “cross-armor.” You guys have any better ideas?
> 
> Leave comments and kudos or I will find a puppy and make it cry! Oh, wait....


	9. Servitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone waiting for the end of Avad’s dissociative episode to be published before reading, it ends in this chapter.

Avad jerked awake at the sound of a knock on his door, and found himself slumped over on the divan. He hadn’t fallen asleep, exactly; he’d simply forgotten to remain awake.

“Enter,” he said.

It was the same servant girl from yesterday, the one he had frightened. She left the door open behind her. She had his dinner again. She brought it to his table.

“What is your name?” Avad asked, because it’s her second time serving him and he still didn’t know. He made sure to keep his eyes on the plate, and not her.

“Aliya, your Radiance,” she said, not quite turning her back on him.

“Aliya,” he said. “I’m sorry I frightened you yesterday.”

Her head jerked up. “You--you didn’t--”

“You shouldn’t lie,” he said, and looked her in the eye. “You should be honest. ‘In the Sun’s light, we shall speak only in truth.’ And it’s still light out, isn’t it?”

“Of--of course, your Radiance.”

“You should _always_ be honest,” Avad said deliberately, because Aliya was going to be one of the last people to see him before he left. She had no idea what was going on, but she would be questioned. Her only hope to avoid the Sun-Ring was to not be caught in a lie, even a small one.

She bowed her head. “My apologies, your Radiance.”

“I forgive you,” he said easily. “You don’t need to forgive _me,_ but please do not deny that my apology is warranted. I’ve caused you far too much trouble, and I’m likely to cause more still.”

She chewed her lip for a moment, considering. “I forgive you,” she whispered.

Avad bowed his head. Any warning he might give would only _guarantee_ she wound up in the Sun-Ring. “Thank you, Aliya. That is more than I deserve.” He mustered up a small smile. “Walk in light.”

“And you, my prince,” she said, and curtsied. When she wheeled the serving cart out the door, she did not hesitate to show him her back.

When the door clicked shut, Avad let the smile drop off his face as he glanced out the window. It really was _far_ too early for his dinner to have been sent up. He was certain that Aliya would have told him that _he_ had asked for his meal to be delivered now, and for his plate to be piled higher than usual with hearty food. It was the perfect meal to prepare for a long trip.

This was clearly Kadaman’s doing. Just another part of the plan. Just like--

Avad ate his dinner. He did not taste the food.

Some time later, there was another knock on the door, and Timor entered without being called, bearing a large wicker basket full of folded fabric. He locked the door behind him.

Avad hadn’t fallen asleep again, but he felt himself wake up.

“Your Radiance,” he greeted, carrying the basket to the bedroom. Avad followed him.

Timor set the basket on the bed and started emptying it. On top was a fresh set of bedsheets. But under that…

“Wear these,” the servant said, handing him a set of robes. “I think you’re to be a merchant? I also have this for you--” he pulled out a well-worn travel bag “--which doesn’t have much, just some personal effects, but you’re supposed to be getting more supplies later, so.”

Avad held up the robes. They were made of rugged fabric, but finely crafted. A wealthy but practical merchant, then.

“Do I have a name?” he asked.

“He said you should pick one, but don’t tell me what it is,” Timor said, handing him a pair of small spectacles. “Your escort will be here in an hour.”

Avad nodded and removed his circlet. Timor hesitated.

“I--also have this,” he said, pulling a thin, finely made box from the basket. “Someone else was going to bring it up to you, but I managed to intercept it. They were happy to give it to me, so it shouldn’t raise any suspicion. I don’t know if you want to take it with you…?”

Avad took the box and opened it. On a bed of velvet sat a circlet of the favored heir of the Sundom, to be worn by the Prince of the Dawn’s Rising.

It was only a circlet, not _the_ circlet. The original was made by Araman himself, who was a fine king but a poor artisan. He had chosen too long a length of wire to be its base, and his corrections held fast, but were obvious. He’d etched the Glinthawk lens at its center himself with a passable depiction of the Spire. Some of the carved lines were too deep, others too shallow, but it was one of the most beautiful things Avad had ever seen. Every poorly cut line spoke to the Founder’s simple, overwhelming gratitude to the Sun, for having led him and his harried people to a place they could call home.

 _This_ circlet was perfectly made. The wire was precisely measured, with no more slack than was needed to sit neatly on his head. The etching of the Spire was flawless, with no errant scratches caused by a clumsy hand, too full of faith and love to leave the task to someone more skilled. As though Araman had been wrong that day, to craft his crown by his own hand. As though it was a mistake to allow a Sun-King to do something so _menial._ As though it didn’t _matter,_ their history, their journey, and all the heartbreak and self-sacrifice and _mercy_ that it took the first Carja to reach the mesa with their former tribesmen at their heels. As though the blood and sweat and _kindness_ it took to build Holy Meridian was irrelevant, as though the circlet that his big brother had worn as he _killed himself_ to remind his people of all of that _did not mean a thing--_

Avad threw the box across the room as hard as he could, and it crashed into the clay jars of ink he kept on his desk. Timor, who had been changing his sheets, jumped.

Avad winced. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Timor looked from the upended box, now splattered and stained, back to Avad. “He was your brother.”

Avad looked away.

Timor went back to making the bed. “I’ll clean that up for you.”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Avad said in a brief flash of heat that died instantly, leaving him drained. “Let them find it like that.”

“Yes, your Radiance.”

The prince watched the servant and wondered if Kadaman had told him of his plans, or if he’d been betrayed as well.

Timor piled the last of the used sheets in the basket. “Anything else I can do for you?”

 _Other than die for me when they come to question you?_ Avad thought. “No, thank you.”

Timor nodded and picked up the basket, turning to leave. Avad grabbed him by the arm.

“It won’t be for nothing,” the prince said. “I swear it.”

The servant looked at the young crybaby prince and the red tracks his tears had left on his face. He blinked. “I know that, your Luminance.”

 _Your Luminance._ The honorific of the one true Sun-King.

Timor bowed and took his leave before Avad could figure out how to react to that.

Then he got to work.

Avad changed into the clothes Timor brought him, keeping his cross-armor on underneath them. He shaved his face clean, put on the spectacles, and slicked his hair back with a scentless oil. He washed the remainder of his face-paint off and reapplied a new pattern, only in black, painting slanted lines down over his cheekbones to break up the lines of his face. He packed his face-paint kit in the travel bag and put on his most worn-looking pair of shoes. He wrapped the hilt of his brother’s sword in fabric strips made of a cut up pair of trousers and hung it from his belt. One of the locks on his bedroom door could be locked with a key from the outside, so he did so, and mangled the key with the blade before tossing it in the fireplace to hide it.

The cross-armor and the scimitar were a risk, but he’d need them later, especially without that damned circlet.

As he considered whether or not he should try to pad out the clothing to make himself look bulkier, there was a knock on the door, and it opened. It was one of his chamber guards.

“We’re ready,” he said.

Avad nodded and stepped into the hall. Five men and one woman were waiting for him. Except--no, that wasn’t a woman, that was _Janeva_ wearing a _dress,_ an opaque veil, and feminine face-paint. Avad bit back the urge to offer to switch, knowing how much the man must _hate_ this. They didn’t have _time,_ and this way no one would spare him a second glance. Besides, Janeva had probably come up with the idea himself.

Three of the other members of his honor guard wore well-used and mismatched armor and weapons--they would be the bodyguards for the merchant and his ‘wife.’

Avad turned to the last two, still standing guard at his bedroom door in full Carja armor. They, and two others who were off-duty for the night, would not be leaving with him. Of the eight men on his personal honor guard, only the four travelling with him would be spared the Sun-Ring. The rest would stay behind to delay the discovery of his departure for as long as they were able.

“Thank you,” he said to them both. “And the other two, as well.” He looked the only wedded man left on his honor guard in the eye, jaw clenching. “Your family?”

“They left for Meridian last week,” he said. That made sense--Sunfall was technically the royal family’s summer palace, but Jiran had been holding court here sooner and leaving later every year to make the most use of its grand Sun-Ring, hence why they were all still here in late autumn. He spent only his winters in Holy Meridian these days. But naturally, some families of the staff and guards would find the desert nights too cold long before then, and would hurry back to the mesa city ahead of the court.

Avad doubted that the man’s family was actually going to _arrive_ in Meridian. Kadaman was too thorough to let them be found by their father’s kestrels so easily.

The prince nodded to them both and turned to leave. Every second spent here, and every word spoken, made it more and more likely that their sacrifices would be for nothing.

His disguised guards took the lead, forcing themselves to walk without their practiced military precision. Next to him, Janeva tucked his hand into the crook of his ‘husband’s’ arm. The farce was almost unnecessary--the halls of the palace were emptier and quieter than ever. Avad supposed it was easier to pretend to be in mourning for the right reasons in private.

They exited from a servant’s entrance into the stone market district, and from there left through the fort’s main gate and headed down the ramp. Avad scanned the tents and stalls of the commoner’s tent market, looking for lanterns that were lit ahead of sunset. He kept his gaze firmly away from the Sun-Ring, and the now-empty cage hanging above it.

His guards let their prince take the lead. Near the end of one of the winding market paths, surrounded by unmanned stalls stood a closed tent with two lit lanterns hanging by its entrance.

Avad nodded to his guards, and they moved to loiter at one of the abandoned stalls. The prince stepped into the tent. Inside was a long table, separating would-be customers from the shelves of bric-a-brac that took up the majority of the space inside. At the table sat a man in a hooded cloak. The man held up a familiar-looking carved machine lens, then pulled down his hood. Avad stared.

Blameless Marad, the Sun-King’s spymaster for the past three years, gazed back passively.

_‘What if someone steals his lens and takes his place?’_

Avad took a deep breath.

_‘They won’t, not with this man. You’ll understand when you meet him.’_

The prince held out his hand, and the spymaster handed over the lens. He pulled out the one Kadaman had given him from his bag, and lined them up. The patterns matched perfectly.

_‘Just put aside your preconceptions and trust him like you would me.’_

He’d probably meant like Avad would have trusted him, before today.

Marad sat with his hands flat on the table, waiting patiently.

“How long?” Avad asked.

Marad considered the question. “I’ve been working against your father for the past fifteen years, but I had no desire to overthrow him until the Red Raids began. I first got wind of your brother’s intentions seven years ago, and started working with him at that time.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Avad.

Marad looked grim. “As far as I could tell, martyring himself was always an option. It wasn’t until two years ago that he made the decision final.”

Avad closed his eyes. Two years ago, when he had gotten Ersa out of the Sun-Ring. When he’d asked Kadaman to get her back home, and to help boost her reputation enough to raise an army. When he’d sat on his little brother’s bed, thinking through his plans, right in front of him.

When he asked Avad how to keep a secret from him. When he’d _told_ him.

 _“Why?”_ the prince asked.

“The Carja need three things to get out from the long, dark shadow of the Mad Sun-King.” Marad said, and held up a hand and counted off. “One, they need an outside force to prove their superiority, because their pride must be broken in order to accept that they’ve made a mistake. That will be Ersa and her Oseram freebooters. Two, they needed someone to show them what _true_ regret and reconciliation look like, someone to share the burden of their guilt with so it doesn’t crush them so completely that they decide they’re beyond saving. Kadaman did that. And three, they need someone who _never_ made the mistake of supporting the Red Raids to lead them, and be an example of what they _should_ have always been, and what they _need_ to be, moving forward. That’s you.”

“Why not you?” Avad asked half-heartedly. “Since you’ve stood against my father longer than me.”

“I’m not as forgiving as you,” Marad said simply. “The streets would run red with blood, if I were on the throne. I would simply be completing your father’s life’s work of destroying the Sundom.”

“ _And_ you’re not a member of the Radiant Line. You’re not even nobly born.”

“That is true,” Marad said. Avad noticed that he didn’t count that as a valid point.

_‘You expect me to trust a stranger with the future of the entire Sundom?’_

_‘Yes, I do. Because I’m already trusting him with it.’_

A knot in Avad’s chest relaxed. Marad clearly had a vengeful streak--Avad was certain that, earlier in his career at least, he would have been better described as an assassin than a spy--but he had enough wisdom and restraint to realize how foolish it would be to indulge in it now. The prince could safely leave the Sundom in this man’s care, for at least however long it took him to march an army back from the Claim. He’d already been looking after it under his father’s nose for years, after all.

“So, what do you have for me?” Avad asked.

“Several things,” Marad said. He pulled out a new pair of challenge lenses, and handed one of them to Avad. He traded it for Marad’s first one. “For if we need to send a message. Have your messenger carry one of the first pair, and try to sell overpriced ridgewood outside Meridian’s main gate. One of my people will find them there. If I send anyone to you, they’ll use the second pair. I assume you’ll be focusing on taking Meridian?”

“Yes,” Avad said. The throne at Holy Meridian would be the only one that mattered, when it came to deciding which Sun-King was true. “Can I count on you to keep my father there? I know he won’t take me seriously.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult, provided you start moving before mid-spring,” Marad said. “Even if you don’t, I can probably come up with enough evidence of something to convince him to come back.”

Avad nodded. With most, if not all, of his father's spy ring subverted, Marad could give him evidence of just about anything he wanted to, provided he didn’t invent new truths _too_ often. He clearly knew his trade far too well to make that sort of error.

Marad truly was the most dangerous weapon in the Sun-King’s arsenal. Too bad for his father that he had his own agenda.

“I also have directions,” Marad continued, pulling out a sheet of parchment. There was an arrow pointing up, and two columns of intermittent dashes. “These are the turns you’ll need to take at each fork of the road. This will take you to a camp northeast of Unflinching Watch, while avoiding any loyal patrols. You’ll meet a man there with supplies for you, and from there you’ll head for Pitchcliff, where you should find yourself a guide for the Claim. Ersa and her brother are doing their usual winter recruitment--you should have no trouble finding them, once you're across the border.”

Avad nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Kadaman left no last words for you with me,” Marad told him, “but there is something that I know he wanted to say to you.”

“And that is?”

“‘You are my king.’”

Avad closed his eyes. He’d said those same words to his brother both countless and too few times over the years, and Kadaman had always, _always_ hugged him after. Avad had thought it was out of gratitude for his faith in him, or a way to seek comfort as the weight of his duties to the Carja and the Sun threatened to crush him.

But no. Kadaman had just been hiding his face so that Avad couldn’t see the _lie_ written on it.

 _You bastard,_ Avad thought bitterly.

“While I’m gone,” he said out loud, opening his eyes, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes?”

“I need you to keep Itamen away from the Sun-Ring.”

“That is already being done.”

“He is my _little brother,_ ” Avad said, placing his hands on the table and leaning forward. “I need you to do more to protect _him_ than Kadaman did for _me,_ especially after today. Do I make myself clear?”

Marad bowed his head. “Yes, your Radiance.”

“Good,” Avad said, straightening up. “Anything else?”

“There is one more thing,” Marad said, turning to grab something from a shelf behind him. He placed a small bag gingerly on the table and untied it.

Avad pulled the bag towards himself and pulled out--the circlet. _The_ circlet. Once the crown of the Sun-King, now the mark of the Prince of the Dawn’s Rising, the next to sit on the throne. It had clearly been taken from his brother’s corpse--an attempt to clean it had been made, but one of the deeper grooves on the lens still had a trace of dried blood.

“You may not want it,” Marad said gently, “but you will _need_ it, your Luminance.”

“Don’t call me that,” Avad said sharply. He partly unwound the too-long wire and pulled the circlet open wide, fitting it over his head to wear as a necklace, and tucked it under his robes. “Not while my father still wears that crown.”

The spymaster looked at the prince for a long moment, before standing up to bow deeply to him.

“It is as you say, my prince,” Marad said. “I will look after the Sundom--and your brother--until you return.”

Avad nodded curtly. It wasn’t quite how he wanted the man’s priorities to line up, but he supposed this was how it _should_ be.

“Until Meridian, then,” Avad said, and left the tent. The sun was just starting to set.

Avad beckoned his guards as he pulled out the encoded directions, not breaking his stride.

One of his guards frowned at the parchment. “Your Radi--”

Avad snapped his head in his direction and glared. The man’s voice died.

“My name is Reban,” he told him quietly. “I’m a merchant who likes to pretend I’m a noble. I refuse to talk to anyone other than my guards directly, because I’m an arrogant ass who thinks it makes me look powerful. But I do, at least, know how to pull my own weight. Understood?”

The guard nodded. “Yes... sir.”

Avad nodded. “Good.” He checked the parchment and tucked it away. “We start with the north road. Let’s go.”

The guards walked with their prince out of the tent market and into the cloudy, moonless night. Despite all the talk of other stops and the circuitous route, Avad knew that he was headed to one place. To Holy Meridian, where he would kill his father, and end the Red Raids for good.

\---

 _I’m headed straight for the castle,  
They’ve got the kingdom locked up.  
And there’s an old man sitting  
On the throne that’s saying  
I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut._  
‘Castle’ by Halsey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the thing, I included lyrics in a fic. In my defense, I already had this on my playlist before I started writing this, so it’s not like I went out and hunted down something just to put here, I was literally just listening to music on my own time and went “oh shit this is PERFECT.” Of course, now I have a bunch more ideas for added lyrics… they’ll always be at the end of chapters, or maybe--MAYBE--in a scene transition. I’ve never been a fan of fics with the lyrics shoved in throughout the whole chapter, so that’ll never happen with this one.
> 
> For honorifics, “your Radiance” was in-game for both Itamen and Avad, while only Avad (and Jiran I think) have been referred to as “your Luminance.” So I’ve ruled that protocol dictates that the princes and the Sun-King can be called Radiance, while only the actual Sun-King can be called Luminance. Not sure about daughters and wives, I’ll probably just stick to “my lady” or “your ladyship.”
> 
> The names of the servants and Avad’s alias are taken from Heaven’s Vault, which is a SUPER COOL narrative adventure game where you play with language puzzles and the aesthetic is in the same general ballpark of Horizon, specifically the Carja. Reban is a scrambled version of Renba from that game, in order to have it end with a consonant so it fits as a male Carja name.
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life! Seriously, I do a happy dance every single time.


	10. Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the chapter that I'm writing at the moment is kicking my ass, and my buffer has shrunk a lot as a result. I'd prefer to have a CONSISTENT schedule and not have to take a hiatus, so I'm going to slow my posting down to every other week until I can get farther ahead. So the next chapter will be posted on Friday the 11th of September.
> 
> EDIT: Fixed the italics error.

The first leg of their journey was uneventful. They stuck to the roads and avoided the machines as much as possible. There was a slim chance that a distant scout might notice the machine-light turn from blue to yellow as they hurried along, but they couldn’t risk leaving any corpses behind. Better to leave witnesses with only guesses to their route than hard evidence.

At a campfire northeast of Unflinching Watch they meet a vaguely familiar dark-haired machine-hunter. It took Avad a moment to recall where he’d seen his face before--he never learned the man’s name, but he was a fledgling of the Lodge, one that he’d seen playing cards with Kadaman more than once when he’d gone to fetch him.

As promised, there were supplies. A bow each for Avad and Janeva, as well as some new armor. Janeva retreated to the tent to change, and came out wearing an Oseram helmet that covers his whole face. All the guards now wore a mix of Oseram and Carja armor pieces, which they told the prince was not an uncommon sight--soldiers on both sides will take war trophies, and scroungers will strip the dead to sell to everyone else.

Avad washed away his face-paint and the oil in his hair, and replaced his shoes, sash, and cloak with ones made of leather, metal, and fur. He hid the circlet of the Dawn’s Rising around his neck under a dusty orange scarf, and cut straps from the discarded armor to more securely tie the cloth strips to his sword’s sheathe; it had started to come undone. It had the added benefit of making him look even more Oseram. They burned the clothes that they won’t need anymore, starting with the dress.

The hunter took their discarded armor pieces and departed, probably to feed them to a Scrapper. He left with them a one-man pull-cart that had some very interesting supplies for them, hidden underneath a pile of wrapped animal pelts and furs.

They followed the river north to Pitchcliff, and it was slower going, with the cart. They couldn’t sneak past the machines anymore, but at least they were all armed now. They were forced to take out three machine-herds before they finally reached the outpost, a full night and day since they left Sunfall.

Avad let his guards talk him into napping for an hour while they searched for a guide. They found one in two, and let him sleep for three. His name was Huadiv, and despite the setting sun he was ready to go as soon as they bought _some damn gloves, did you forget what winter is like in the Claim?_ Avad realized the man knew they were Carja, but also that he didn't care. He may or may not be Carja himself, but he’d probably been hired by Carja escaping over the bordermore than once before today.

Avad wondered if business had slowed down since Helis started earning his newest title, but he didn’t ask.

Over the next few days Huadiv took them deep into the mountains of the Claim. They camped in an abandoned town that first night, in a home with a splintered front door that had been long stripped of anything of use. Avad took the first watch with Huadiv, and he made sure his guard all got a full night’s sleep for the first time in three days. The prince wondered if this was the first Oseram town hit by the Red Raids. What had they thought, the people who lived in this house, when the Carja had marched on them without warning?

Huadiv had them avoid the next ruined town. It had been boobytrapped against the last campaign, he said, but the Carja may not have found all the traps, and Huadiv didn’t want to risk finding them himself. Avad wondered if this is one of the places Kadaman had almost died last year.

They only needed to stop in one living town to ask about Ersa’s freebooters. They were camped near Mainspring, and had put out the usual call for recruits over the winter. A father and son told them this--they were on their way to join them now, nothing to keep them here with their family business and family both up in smoke, would they like to travel together? Avad let Janeva lie for him, saying they were chasing down a lead on a good delve first, hoping to show up with more than just some furs. The father and son wished them luck before turning in. Huadiv didn’t question the story, he just made sure to give their expected route a wide berth the next day.

They passed near another town, and through a refugee camp nestled next to it, split by the road. On the town side were displaced Oseram, those who had ran ahead of the invading armies, and the few who were captured and made it back, only to find their homes gone. The stone houses were hastily put together, but would survive the winter. The people kept busy, and largely ignored them as they passed by.

On the far side was the much smaller camp of Carja refugees. Mostly deserters from the army, Avad thinks, some Carja slaves, probably only a few runaway civilians. The camp clearly started in an underground ruin of the Old Ones, but had spilled out towards the town. Their shelters were made of logs and canvas. The people kept their heads down, and watched them as they passed out of the corners of their eyes, tense.

That night, when Huadiv was deep asleep, the prince pulled out a map and made a note. Avad can’t help his people survive the coming northern winter, but he can make sure they don’t need to survive another.

They were ambushed by a Behemoth convoy the next day. Avad ordered Janeva to hide with the cart, since he was the one pulling it at the time. They all survive, but Huadiv’s foot got mangled by the Behemoth’s jaws. They wrapped it up and hustled to the next town, leaving their guide at an inn with enough shards to wait out the winter in comfort--what comfort there is to be had with two fewer toes than he started with. Avad and his guard would be alright--from this high up, they could see the smokestacks of Mainspring in the valley below, and hear the clang of its great drop hammers. And at the mouth of the valley to their west, what might be a military camp, centered around a small village.

At noon before they reached the freebooter’s camp, Avad allowed them to pray for the first time since they left the Sundom.

His guards lifted their faces to the Sun and murmured: _Araman, Amavad, Sadahin, Juwadan, Zavarad, Iriv, Basadid, Khuvadin, Ranan, Nahasis, Marzid, Hivas._

Avad lifted his face to the Sun and thought: _Araman, Amavad, Sadahin, Juwadan, Zavarad, Iriv, Basadid, Khuvadin, Ranan, Nahasis, Marzid, Hivas, Kadaman._

They marched on.

An hour from the edge of camp, Janeva tells him they’re being followed. They keep going, and soon they meet a patrol ahead of them. Their pursuers don’t show themselves, but Avad can feel their gaze now, like an itch between his shoulder blades.

There are five men blocking the road ahead of them, all in full Oseram armor. Their gear varies in age and design, but it’s all well-maintained.

“State your business!” the patrol’s commander shouted. He was an older man--clearly a veteran--with an impressive bulk and an even more impressive, if greying, mustache.

Avad pulled his hood down and stepped forward with his hands held up. He now wore a white linen shirt with his Carja cross-armor over it, and holding up his arms opened his fur-lined cloak enough to show it. The commander's eyes narrowed.

“I’ve come to speak to Ersa,” Avad said. He nodded behind him to the cart, now surrounded on all sides by his guards. “I have some things I need to discuss with her.”

The patrolman moved closer, glaring at his face. His eyes narrowed further--he’d spotted Avad’s face-paint, that he’d reapplied after the noon prayer.

“You have a name, Carja?” the patrolman spat. The other Oseram tensed. The itch on Avad’s back grew more insistent.

“I do,” he said. “Ersa knows it. Tell her that she still owes me dinner, from the first night we met.”

The patrolman glared first at Avad, then at the cart. The prince could see him thinking about ordering his men to fire and simply taking its contents, or just burn the whole thing and be done with a potential trap. These might be Ersa’s men, but they weren’t Ersa; the prince could not take it for granted that they would act as reasonably as she did. Avad breathed evenly, arms still up, and waited.

“Sergeant!” the patrolman barked. “You heard him, right?”

“Yessir!” said one of the Oseram behind him.

“Go tell the commander!”

“Sir!” He pounded a fist to his chest in salute, and hurried up the road.

“And now we wait,” the patrolman said, crossing his arms and settling in. “No one better touch that cart.”

“Understood,” Avad said, and looked over his shoulder to nod at his honor guard. They took only a half step away from it, but the Oseram didn’t press the issue.

The prince slowly crossed his arms, mirroring the patrolman’s pose. The man’s mustache twitched as he stared at him. Avad returned his gaze passively.

Eventually the sergeant jogged back, joining his three comrades ahead of them on the road. “Sir?” he called, winded.

The patrolman stepped away from the Carja and rejoined his men. When the sergeant spoke, the other four men stiffened in surprise.

The patrolman stalked back, hands on his hips, and glowered. _“Name.”_

“Prince Avad, of the Dawn’s Rising,” he confirmed.

“Prove it.”

Avad unwound his scarf, revealing his circlet. He pulled it over his head, adjusted the wire, and put it on properly for the first time.

The patrolman only glared at the etched Glinthawk lens on his brow. Avad realized that he must have no idea what it meant--Ersa would have recognized it, but she would not have shared that detail with her patrols.

“I also have this,” he said, turning slightly and moving his cloak aside to show the undisguised sword on his hip. The sheath alone was unique enough that it could only be his brother’s, and he had worn it every time he Raided the Claim.

The patrolman glared a moment longer, then nodded curtly. “Come with me.”

Avad and his guard followed the Oseram up the road. He could still feel eyes on his back, but he didn’t turn around to see if the other half of their escort had broken cover or not.

Word of their arrival had clearly spread like wildfire. As they were marched through the forest of tents that made up most of the camp, men and women came to gawk from the sidelines. They were met with a lot of narrowed eyes as the onlookers whispered arguments amongst themselves, but their official escort kept anyone from saying anything to them.

Avad focused on the tents themselves. They were made of heavy fabric, and with a wider footprint than the ones the Carja used for their troops. Did they put more troops in each tent? The increased body heat might make the colder nights of the Claim more bearable, but they were settled here for the winter. Surely there must be something more to it?

The sound of drop hammers grew louder as they walked, as did the chatter of their audience. Up ahead Avad could see the occupied town that acted as the freebooter’s base of command. Ersa must have a lot of pull these days in order to oust an entire village so close to Mainspring. And she obviously didn’t get that pull by talking about what good friends she had been with an enemy prince.

In what must have once been the town square stood a large, rectangular tent, with a smoking chimney poking out from one corner. Its entrance was flanked by Oseram guards, who stopped them as they approached.

“Only the prince is allowed in,” the guardsman said.

Avad’s honor guard weren’t happy to hear that, but they said nothing. After sharing a glance with the patrolman, Avad dug through the furs loaded into the cart and pulled out a small box that he tucked under one arm and an oil-treated leather tube that he slung over one shoulder, and entered the tent.

Inside was smaller than it should have been--the walls were too thick (Were all the Oseram tents like that? Did it help against the cold? Protection from arrows, maybe?). In one corner sat a squat covered cauldron full of burning coals attached to pipes, like a fireplace in a bucket. Against the other wall was a collection of boxes and baskets and furniture filled with various papers and detritus, clearly hastily shoved aside for this meeting.

In the center of the room was a large table made of metal, the almost-invisible seams in it suggesting that it was adjustable, maybe even collapsible. On the other side stood Ersa, flanked by two men.

Ersa looked… perhaps not “better” than when he’d last seen her, but more _herself._ The slave masters always had her bathed in milk and her hair treated with scented oils before sending her to him, but they had also severely limited her food, for every meal she didn’t share with him. Her hair and skin no longer looked soft to the touch, and she’d regained her lost fighting weight and then some. She wore the typical armor of her people, though she wore panels of ring locked leather like a short skirt and had armor fitted to her legs. Clearly custom made for her, not just because of the design, and also well used and maintained. She still wore her dark hair in long twin braids starting at the base of her skull.

The man to her right could only be her little brother, Erend. His armor was a more typical long coat style, with armored boots and cloth pants. He wore his hair in one thick stripe, and his face was artfully shaved to emphasize his strong chin and jaw.

The man on Ersa’s left Avad could not guess. He was not in full armor like the other two, and was at _least_ fifteen years her senior. He wore some metal plating over his most vital parts, but while he was clearly Oseram, it was also clear that he was no soldier, and never had been. If he’d been Carja, Avad would have guessed that this man was a noble, but the Oseram had no such titles.

All three Oseram stood with their arms crossed, faces blank, staring.

Ersa raised her chin ever so slightly. “Avad.”

The prince mimicked the gesture. “Ersa.” He approached the table and set the box down on it.

“You’re here sooner than I expected,” Ersa said. Erend remained unmoving, but a muscle in the other man’s jaw twitched.

“Our options have changed,” he told her. “I came to explore a new one.”

The corner of Ersa’s mouth kicked up in a smile, the first friendly expression Avad had seen since he’d been stopped by her patrol. Her eyes flickered up to the etched Glinthawk lens on his brow. “So what’s the old cad got in mind for us now?”

Avad stared at her. _She doesn’t know,_ he realized. _None of them do._ They had waited hours before leaving Sunfall, so there was definitely _time_ for word to reach here ahead of him, but who would have been rushing off to tell the Oseram the latest news from the Sundom? And the sword on his hip was unique, yes, but no free and living Oseram would have been able to get a close enough look to tell the difference between _this_ blade and the one Avad used to carry, which was only a pale imitation. She recognized the circlet as belonging to his brother, but she must have thought he’d lent it to him, to show his support or share his authority.

“Kadaman publicly spoke against the Red Raids, so father had him thrown into the Sun-Ring,” he heard himself say, as he watched Ersa’s face carefully. “He’s dead.”

Ersa’s eyes widened in genuine shock, and something in Avad relaxed. She hadn’t known what Kadaman had _really_ been planning, either.

“Wasn’t that his fucking _son?!_ ” Erend demanded, disgusted.

“And his favorite one, yes,” Avad said.

The third man snorted derisively.

“Well _that’s_ a fuckin’ change,” Ersa said, staring. “So _you’re_ the favorite now?”

“When I left? Only officially. Itamen was in Meridian, and father needed to name a new heir as quickly as possible,” Avad explained. “At the moment? I expect I’ve been disowned by now. It will have been obvious that I left of my own will.”

“So _Itamen’s_ the new favorite,” Ersa said. “Ain’t he only, what, three years old?”

“Three and three quarters,” Avad said loyally. “If he ascended now, he’d have a regent until he was fifteen, most likely High Priest Bahavas.” It would be between him and a few select nobles, but knowing his father, he’d prioritize fanaticism as much as political savviness when choosing his heir’s regent and mentor, and the High Priest had both. “But father’s young yet, so assuming nothing untoward happens to him, Itamen would be a man before he became Sun-King.”

“And you’re here to make sure somethin’ untoward _does_ happen to him,” Ersa said, eyes glittering like steel.

“And take _my_ place as the next Sun-King, yes,” Avad said. He tapped his circlet. “This is the _original_ crown of the Sun-Kings, and the true mark of the favored heir. This, plus the fact that I was named first, and that Itamen’s so young, will make my claim as next in line more legitimate than my brother’s to anyone but my father’s most zealous supporters.” Especially after Kadaman had died while wearing--

Avad shoved that thought in a box, locked it, and very carefully forgot about it.

“And I doubt a little kid is gonna care about whether he’s a king or a prince,” Erend guessed.

Avad nodded. “Of course not. And Nasadi, his mother, cares more about his well being than his birthright. He’ll be _my_ heir anyway, until I have my own children, and I’d probably have him be _their_ regent, if it’s needed.”

“And what do _you_ care about?” the third man demanded angrily.

Avad turned to him. “Protecting my little brother, my people, and stopping the Red Raids.”

“In _that_ order?”

“I would not trade one for the other two; I intend to do all three,” Avad said. He glanced at Ersa. “My apologies, I don’t know your name...?”

“This is Dervahl,” Ersa told him, as the man puffed up his chest. “He’s the best tinker in the Claim, and a warlord.”

Avad frowned. “I’m not familiar with the rank of ‘warlord.’”

“It means he’s got a company of Oseram regulars under his command,” Ersa explained. “Before he joined up with us, he was stationed closer to the border.” Until the Red Raids pushed him back, she didn’t say.

“I thought you were freebooters, not regulars.”

“Most of us are,” Erend chimed in. He jerked his head towards his sister. “Ersa’s in charge of the whole operation, and I’m her second with the freebooters. Dervahl runs the regulars for her. What’s left of them, anyway--they keep signing on with Ersa when their contracts end.”

Erend beamed proudly on his sister’s behalf. Dervahl’s eye twitched. Between them, Ersa looked very much like she’d prefer her brother had kept his mouth shut.

No wonder Dervahl was in a sour mood. When they had asked about how to find Ersa on the journey here, the Oseram had only talked about joining Ersa-and-Erend, with no mention of Dervahl. Add to that the fact that Dervahl was clearly a more traditional Oseram man than Erend was, where women were concerned, his pride must be smarting something _fierce._

“ _Anyway,_ ” she said, “so that’s what you want. How are you plannin’ to _get_ it? We don’t have enough troops to conquer the whole Sundom.”

“I don’t want you to conquer anything,” Avad said. “I want to make you my Vanguard, and have you escort me to Meridian.”

Dervahl’s eyes flashed. “You want us to be your fucking _kestrels?”_

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Avad said. “The Vanguard is simply the name of the Sun-King’s personal army who answer directly to him, not any generals or nobles. My father’s Vanguard is the kestrels; he established them shortly after his ascension. I would have you for mine.”

“You think a bunch of _Oseram_ are going to work for _you_ after they win the war?” Dervahl sneered.

“The freebooters at least,” Avad said to him, “if they find my offer reasonable.” Avad opened the box he’d brought in with him and spun it around to face them.

Ersa’s brow furrowed. “Machine hearts?” she asked.

“Rockbreaker hearts,” Avad clarified, taking one out and handing it to her. “All harvested from before the Derangement, in case that changes their value. My understanding is that they’ve always been quite rare, even more so in the Claim.”

The tinker crowded into Ersa’s space, trying to get a better look. She quickly placed the heart down on the table and he snatched it up, but didn’t move away as he turned it over in his hands. Ersa’s whole body was tense, though she was clearly trying to hide it.

“This is the downpayment,” Avad said, glancing between her and the older man, who was ignoring him now. “My father has ruined a lot of things in the Sundom, but the treasury isn’t one of them. You’ll get the rest of your pay once we take Meridian. And a steady pay for those who choose to stay on with me, of course.”

“So,” Ersa said, stepping back from the table. Her brother smoothly moved to take her place next to Dervahl, leaning in close to frown at the heart. Dervahl took a step back from him, annoyed. Ersa now stood in Erend’s spot. “You only want us to invade one city?”

“Not invade; liberate,” Avad said, filing away the trio’s dance to decipher later. “And as I said, the main goal is to escort me there, so I can personally kill my father.”

“Fuck _that,_ ” Dervahl spat, looking up from the machine heart. “I swore an _oath_ that I’d kill that carrion licker _myself._ ”

“As I’m sure many Oseram have,” Avad said. “Not to mention people from _every_ tribe. But I’m afraid I can’t let any of you keep your word. It _has_ to be me.”

Dervahl’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head, outraged. He’d been prickly the whole time, but this was another level--clearly Avad was missing something. He glanced at Ersa.

She folded her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “Explain.”

“‘Only the Sun’s rightful heir, born of the Radiant Line, is the Speaker of the Sun. He shall be known as the Sun-King,’” he summarised. “My father is no longer the Sun’s _rightful_ heir, if he ever was, and this is the first time in the history of the Carja that this has happened. ‘Holy Meridian shall forever be the seat of the Carja. A Sun-King born of the Radiant Line shall always sit upon its throne. For either of these to be denied is to invite a twilight time upon us.’ The Red Raids are about as twilight a time as I can imagine, for _every_ tribe. Which just makes it even more plain to see that he _shouldn’t_ be on that throne.”

“What’s that got to do with _you_ havin’ to be the one to off your dad?”

“Because this has _never happened before,_ ” Avad said. “ _Ever._ There’s never been a question of who will sit on the throne next, let alone whether or not a reigning Sun-King _deserves_ to keep it once he’s attained it. There’s been squabbles amongst heirs to noble houses, but never the _Radiant Line._ ” He shook his head. “If this is handled poorly, my people will _never_ accept me as the next Sun-King; they’ll be split into factions, or use my little brother as a puppet. Or _both._ The only chance of me _not_ being seen as a usurper is for me to kill my father, personally, under the light of the Sun. ‘In the Sun’s light, we strike only in righteousness.’ So if _I_ kill him, it will be seen as _me_ acting as the Speaker of the Sun, carrying out its will.”

“You can’t order someone else to do it?” Ersa asked him. “‘Cause if it’s about the Sun’s _will,_ wouldn’t it bein’ done on your order be enough? I mean, he ordered your _brother_ killed.”

“By a machine, not a man, and in a ritual he presided over personally,” the prince said. “Do you remember the Red Hair Riots?”

Ersa frowned, trying to recall one of the history books he’d read aloud to her during her captivity. “That was… when someone assassinated a prince, right?”

“A murder, not an assassination,” Avad said, “of the eleventh son of Ranan, the ninth Sun-King, by way of a concubine. There was no way he would _ever_ ascend the throne, but he _was_ of the Radiant Line. One day, he was killed in a lover’s quarrel, and his murderer got away. The guards knew _exactly_ who he was, but when they put the word out to find him, they mentioned that he had red hair.” Avad looked grim. “The Carja only focused on that last part. Every person with red hair in the Sundom was suspected by their neighbors. Eventually, as the manhunt dragged on, my people started to form mobs and lynch them. It took _weeks_ for the army to calm things down, and they never officially caught the man. By then, most people with red hair in the Sundom were dead or had fled. I haven’t seen a single redheaded Carja in my life. And before that, red hair was seen as a _blessing,_ a sign that the child was favored by the Sun.

“So, between the Riots and the Raids, it is plainly seen that my people are _not_ reasonable when it comes to members of the Radiant Line. So it _has_ to be _another_ member of the Radiant Line who deals the killing blow, to avoid reprisal, and right now there’s only Itamen and myself. Otherwise the Carja will whip themselves into a frenzy to kill anyone even _remotely_ similar.” He turned to look at Dervahl. “And if it’s you, Warlord? They will only hear the word ‘Oseram,’ and make bandits of themselves as they try to exterminate your people. And I will _not_ let my people stain their hands with genocide on top of everything _else._ ” 

The tinker glared at him with burning eyes. “I gave my _word._ ” 

“We know, Dervahl,” Ersa said tiredly, “but Avad’s right. If _he_ does it, we _end_ the war. If one of _us_ does it, we’ll have the whole Carja army marchin’ on the Claim, instead of bein’ spread between four tribes.” 

“You're going to take _his_ word on that, are you?” Dervahl demanded. 

She shook her head. “Not _just_ his word. Unlike you, I’ve actually _been_ to the Sundom. There’s three kinds of Carja; the fanatics who _like_ what the Mad Sun-King’s doin’, the ones who are scared shitless but are still hopin’ that just a _bit_ more blood will fix the Derangement, and the ones who realize he’s full of shit and want him gone, but even _those_ ones still care about the Radiant Line and all that. So I’m sorry Dervahl, but we’re gonna do it _his_ way.” 

The warlord scowled. 

“Provided, of course,” she continued, turning to Avad, “that you _can_ kill him.” 

“If I can get a clear shot with a bow?” the prince said. “Absolutely.” 

“ _But…?_ ” she prompted. 

“But it would be better, politically, if I killed him with a blade,” Avad admitted, “whether in combat or as a form of execution. Then no one could deny he died by _my_ hand.” 

“And if it comes to combat, can you beat him?” 

“Right now, in a duel? Maybe.” Avad shrugged. “My father greatly values personal skill in the arts of war, but I don’t know how well he’s kept up with his training since he ascended, especially since the Red Raids and the sacrifices keep him so busy. He could be mad enough at this point to think he doesn’t _need_ to train, or he could have been obsessing over it every hour I didn’t have my eyes on him. I know he’s fit enough because, well, as _you_ know--” he gestured at Ersa “--the only shirt a member of the Radiant Line is expected to need is the brazen armor of the Sun. But beyond keeping himself from getting fat? It wasn’t _my_ responsibility to know.” 

“It was Kadaman’s,” Ersa supplied, looking at him with sympathy. 

Avad took a moment to _not think_ about Kadaman. Then he said. “I intend to work on my swordsmanship over the winter. My father doesn’t take me seriously enough to train harder just to fight _me,_ so I’m not expecting the gap in skill to widen, at least. My true concern is Helis.” 

“ _That_ fucker,” Ersa swore, and spat on the ground. 

Avad winced, recalling the man’s ‘enthusiasm’ for the Sun-Ring. “Yes, him. There is no possible way _I’ll_ be able to kill him, no matter how much I train, and he _will_ be attending my father.” 

“But if _you’re_ the only one who can kill the Mad Sun-King without causing a riot,” Erend said, “then Helis can’t kill _you,_ right?” 

“He wouldn’t need to. He could just cripple me and let my father finish me off. Or if he _does_ kill me--he barely saw me as a legitimate prince _before_ I left, so I’d wager he’d be willing--he would just kill all the witnesses. Or he’d kill himself as penance, maybe, I’m not sure. He’s as mad as my father, and there’s no predicting madness.” 

“But he ain’t one of the Radiant Line,” Ersa said. She glanced over at Dervahl. “So it don’t matter who or what kills _him,_ does it?” 

“No,” said Avad, looking between them. Dervahl still looked angry, but mollified. “I take it you have something specific in mind?” 

“Lil’ bit,” she said with a smirk. “Of course, it might come with some collateral damage, so we’ll have to teach you somethin’ other than swordsmanship over the winter, in case he’s standin’ too close to your dad. But it can _definitely_ kill Helis.” 

“What is it, exactly?” 

Dervahl scowled at Ersa. “We haven’t agreed to anything yet.” 

“ _I_ haven’t agreed yet,” Ersa said with a look, then turned back to Avad. “I ain’t gonna share what we got ‘til we’re spat and sworn, but we got a good option. So the plan so far is, we get you to your dad and you kill him, that protects your people and ends the Red Raids. What about your brother?” 

“I already have someone seeing to Itamen’s safety,” the prince said. “It’s obviously a delicate situation, so I won’t be giving you any more information until you _need_ it.” 

Ersa, who had the most experience with working on a need-to-know basis, simply nodded. Erend looked skeptical. Dervahl’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. 

“This all depends on us takin’ Meridian,” Ersa said. “And the idea that the whole Sundom will follow you once it does.” 

“As long as we hold Meridian, secure my brother, and kill my father, it will,” Avad told her. “It’s the City of the Sun. If I _can_ sit on that throne, it means I’m _meant_ to.” 

Ersa rolled her eyes. “You Carja are _all_ fuckin’ crazy.” 

“It is plainly seen,” Avad agreed, “but it does simplify certain things, does it not?” 

“So what’s your plan for taking Meridian?” Erend asked. 

“I’ll leave _that_ to the experts in my Vanguard,” Avad said. He drummed his fingers on the leather tube he brought with him, still slung under one arm. “But I _did_ bring some maps to assist with that endeavor.” 

Dervahl’s eyes snapped to the tube. “Maps of what?” 

“The Sundom as a whole, and several border forts,” Avad said, “as well as of Meridian itself. Only for my personal Vanguard’s eyes, of course.” 

“Which means just me and Erend, then,” Ersa said, glancing at the warlord, “since you’re a regular.” 

“I’d hardly stop you from consulting him,” Avad allowed, “but I _must_ demand that you retain physical custody of them at all times, and not make _any_ copies. I do intend to seek an alliance with the Oseram, but these _are_ the keys to ending the reign of a Sun-King. I’d rather limit that to just my father’s, and have it done on _my_ terms.” 

“Fair enough,” Ersa said with a firm nod. “Alright then, now we just gotta talk price.” 

“I know what your rates were for last year,” Avad said. “I can offer that plus ten percent, until Meridian is secure. Once that is done, we can renegotiate for anyone who wants to stay on with me.” It was a generous offer, though not as obscene as what his father paid his kestrels. 

Ersa frowned at the box of Rockbreaker hearts. “I don’t think those’ll quite last through the winter in that case. My freebooters are gonna wanna send _all_ the shards they earn to their families, before they leave the Claim.” 

“He could take out a loan for the difference?” Erend suggested. 

Ersa hummed. “ _I’ll_ take out a loan; the bank won’t try to gouge me like they would a Carja, if they’d even deal with him.” She glanced at the prince. “But _you’re_ on the hook for repaying it.” 

“The treasury of the Sundom is at your disposal, once you take it,” Avad said. “Do we have a deal?” 

“We need to discuss this first,” Dervahl said. “In _private._ ” 

“No, we don’t,” Ersa said. “We gotta talk to the Ealdormen about bringing the regulars along, but my freebooters don’t answer to them. Erend, any thoughts?” 

“They’re gonna wanna hear from him directly,” her brother said. “The sooner the better.” 

“We can arrange that,” Ersa said. She turned to Avad. “You up for speechifyin’?” 

Avad frowned. “... Somehow, I don’t think that an army of Oseram is going to be moved by anything a Carja prince has to say.” 

“Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk, “I’ll warm them up for you.” She stepped around the table, removing her gloves. “So, you pay us last year’s rate plus ten percent, I front you the difference to get us through the winter, you pay me back no more than what the bank wants outta me. And afterwards, you offer my freebooters a permanent position as part of the Sun-King's Vanguard. Do I have your word, Prince Avad of the Carja?” 

“You have it,” Avad said, sensing something formal. 

“And _you_ have _my_ word,” she continued, “as Ersa Freebooterswoman of the Oseram, that we will get you to Meridian to help you overthrow the Mad Sun-King and end the Red Raids for _all_ tribes, and that we will do so on _your_ terms. And we’ll do what we can for your little brother, too. Do you accept my word?” 

“I do.” 

She spat in her right hand and held it out. Avad hesitated a moment, before spitting much more delicately into his own palm, and clasped her hand in his. 

“We are spat and sworn,” Ersa said. Then she grinned, wide and true. “Congratulations, pretty boy, you just bought yourself a Vanguard.” 

Avad sagged in relief. The plan was _working._ “Thank you, captain.” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Just ‘captain’? I ain’t a general of the Sundom now?” 

“You’re the captain of my _Vanguard,_ ” Avad said. “You outrank mere _generals._ ” 

Ersa threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, this is gonna be so much fuckin' _fun._ ” She jerked her head towards the tent’s entrance. “C’mon then, let’s have you work that honeyed tongue of yours on the troops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess it’s not even slightly relevant, but the man they meet at the campfire is the Keeper from the Element Trials Hunting Grounds, over by Hunter’s Gathering. He seriously regrets gaining Avad’s favor, because after the Liberation Avad puts in a good word and he’s given the honor of hosting the Hunting Grounds in Nora land and oh god they’re gonna kill him. And poor Huadiv never has a good time when he’s escorting escaping royals, even when he doesn’t know they’re royals.
> 
> In-game, the Sun-Priests sing the names of the Sun-Kings at sunrise, noon, and sunset. They recite Araman to at least Hivas, I think they say Avad at the end but I'm not sure, but they definitely leave out Jiran. And no one but Avad counts Kadaman as a Sun-King, so they don't say his name either. Avad and the guard are reciting them as sort of a meditative chant/ standard devotion. Reciting the names of the Sun-Kings is a catch-all prayer, like Our Father and Hail Mary were presented to me as a tiny baby Catholic.
> 
> Also, I’m clearly making up a lot of lore for the Oseram. There’s zero mention of “Oseram regulars” in the game, but I figure their entire military can’t be based on mercenary bands. A good portion of it is, at least during the Raids, for the simple fact that their independence means that they’re not slowed down by the Ealdormen.
> 
> And as for the Vanguard, the Sun-Priest Irid that you meet before the proving says that Ersa was the first woman to be made the captain of the Sun-King’s Vanguard, so clearly “Vanguard” was an existing name for a force in the Sundom.
> 
> FYI, the Red Hair Riots are entirely my own invention, in case someone's worried that they missed a datapoint.
> 
> Also, was this chapter even entertaining? I really like getting into the nitty gritty of certain things, like how a Carja prince was able to even reach the camp of an Oseram army, let alone negotiate successfully with them. Because that just plain takes a lot of guts and a lot of trust, considering who his father is and what he’s been doing to them. For me, the detail’s are intriguing, but like… is it fun to read?
> 
> Apologies for slowing down the posting, but I'd rather slow it down now than stop for a bit later. The chapter I'm stuck on is turning out to be long as hell though, so... look forward to that at least? IN the meantime, you can play a game I like to call "reread this chapter and find all the places where Dervahl thinks Avad's being an arrogant and/or racist ass but he's not."
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated! Every single one is like a tiny little cheerleader egging me on, and I'll appreciate it now more than ever as I try to get ahead! Thank you all for reading and sticking with me!


	11. Savior

Ersa jerked her head towards the tent’s entrance. “C’mon then, let’s have you work that honeyed tongue of yours on the troops.”

Avad blinked owlishly at Ersa. “What, now?”

“Of course _now,_ ” she said, taking her hand back and pulling her gloves back on. “Half the fuckin’ camp’s probably waitin’ outside, after you walked up here dressed like _that._ Can’t have my troops stewin’ on why a Carja prince is sniffin’ around for too long, or someone’s liable to cause a ruckus.”

Avad moved to grab a handkerchief to wipe the spit off his palm before realizing that he didn’t bring one into the tent with him. “What--what do you want me to say to them?”

“Pretty much the same thing you just said to us,” Ersa said with a shrug, stepping past him to the tent’s entrance, “just give ‘em the short version. They ain’t gonna listen as patiently to you as we did.”

“That _was_ the short version,” Avad said through gritted teeth as she swept the tent flap aside to reveal--well, half the camp was _probably_ an exaggeration, but there were certainly a _lot_ of Oseram congregating around the square. They gave the command tent a wide berth, and Avad’s honor guard and their cart had been shoved up against the side of it to make way for the crowd. He wondered how he hadn’t heard them from inside--the constant buzz of bickering was loud enough when Ersa had first opened the tent, and only increased when she put an arm over his shoulders and pulled him out with her.

“Good thing I’m goin’ first, then,” She glanced behind them. “Erend, tell the forges to still the hammers.”

“Yes, captain!” her brother said, and Avad watched as he began pushing through the crowd away from them. “Comin’ through, move it! _Hey, Petra!"_

“ _Sir,_ ” said Janeva through gritted teeth. He stood stiffly at attention next to the cart, and looked far too aware of the fact that the only thing protecting its contents from the Oseram army was the authority of other Oseram, not the mere four men of the prince’s honor guard. He also did not look happy to see his prince being led in the _opposite direction_ by the _commander_ of said army.

“Stay with the cart!” Avad ordered as Ersa and he disappeared into the crowd. They parted to let them through, but there were too many people present to give them proper space. He kept bumping into arms and legs, which flinched away from him. He held tightly to the leather tube of maps he still carried, grateful that it was sandwiched between him and Ersa; Avad didn’t think he could have stopped _himself_ from flinching if it wasn’t.

She was steering him towards a raised platform at the town square’s center that was miraculously clear of people, despite the crowd. Her freebooters must have been expecting a speech, after seeing a Carja prince walk through their camp. What would they expect her to say about that?

What would they _want_ her to say?

When they reached the stairs leading up the stage, Ersa pushed him ahead of her, keeping a supporting hand on the small of his back. Avad felt himself relax by a fraction--she hadn’t taken her hands off him since she opened the tent. She’d had him walk _next_ to her, not behind her, through the crowd. She’d been careful to not make him look weak in front of her troops, because while she would continue to command them, _he_ was supposed to _lead_ them.

Ersa was in control of the situation, and she was protecting him. Avad wasn’t so much worried about his own life as he was about what it represented--a means to save his people and the key to keeping his little brother from being used--but the dumb animal part of his brain _had_ been afraid for his own skin. Now he could silence it; most of these Oseram may refuse to follow him, but they wouldn’t _attack_ him, or his guard. Ersa had already seen to that, and she hadn’t even spoken a word.

She clapped the prince’s shoulder and stepped away from him to look over the crowd as the ceaseless drop hammers stilled. The sudden absence of sound called more attention to the stage than the strike of any gong ever could.

“Listen up, you louts!” Ersa shouted. All chatter dwindled away, and in the silence, the distant sound of Mainspring’s great drop hammers could barely be heard.

“As I’m sure you all heard by now--” she glared in the direction of the forges, and Avad could see Erend grinning cheekily at her “--I spent some time in Sunfall two years ago. The fuckin’ Mad Sun-King put me in his little arena and wanted me to fight a Behemoth, but I killed a couple of his dumbass kestrels who ain’t ever heard of _belly armor,_ and he decided to make me a palace slave instead, as a ‘reward.’

“What you _ain’t_ heard, is that this guy--” Ersa jerked her head in his direction “--is the one who convinced him to not just let the Behemoth have a go at me next. His name is Avad. He’s the Mad Sun-King’s second son, and he’s about as sick of his dad’s _bullshit_ as we are.”

All eyes turned to the prince. He was suddenly very aware that his right palm was still wet with spit, now growing cold in the afternoon air.

“You probably ain’t heard much of Prince Avad before today,” she continued, “because _he_ ain’t the one who’s been sent Raiding. That’d be the king’s _first_ son, Kadaman.”

Avad watched himself take a shuddering breath as he was suddenly looking down on the stage from above.

“I met them _both_ while I was in Sunfall, and let me tell you somethin’--Kadaman was even _sicker_ of his dad’s bullshit than _us._ ”

 _That was a mistake,_ said a cold, calculating voice in Avad’s head, as the crowd exploded in an uproar. _They’ll never follow her again. It was all for nothing._

“Shut up!” The uproar quieted, but not by much. She snarled. _“NOW, MAGGOTS!”_

All sound ceased.

“You think I didn’t think the _same fuckin’ thing,_ the first time I heard that?” she demanded. “Especially after they _dragged my ass_ through the desert in _chains_ and told me to die fightin' to _entertain_ them? You think I didn’t wanna wring _this_ asshole’s neck--” she jerked her thumb at Avad “--when he first tried to tell me that _Prince Kadaman,_ of all people, stood against the Mad Sun-King? _Of course I fuckin’ did!_ But you know what I found out?”

Ersa shook her head, grimacing. “Prince Kadaman was the sorriest bastard to ever walk this fuckin’ _earth._

“He’s Carja, and _all_ Carja are crazy about their Sun and their Sun-King--even Avad here, and he’s _the most reasonable fucker I’ve ever met in my entire fuckin’ life._ And for Kadaman, the Sun-King wasn’t just the Sun-King, he was his fuckin’ _dad,_ trainin’ him up to take over the family business. So when his dad said to him; ‘hey kid, the machine’s are tryna fuckin’ kill us, but I know what to do. Go round up some folk so we can kill _them_ in the name of the Sun, I _promise_ that’ll fix it,’ you know what Kadaman said?

“He said, ‘shit dad, that seems a little fuckin’ _extreme,_ but I know you ain’t tryna make me a fuckin’ _war criminal_ for _no goddamn reason._ So all right, I’ll try to make sure nobody dies outside of your sacrifices, because that’d just be fuckin’ _pointless_ on _top_ of bein’ _fucked up._ If I gotta kill a bunch of _innocent people,_ I’m gonna at _least_ try to make sure every single death is fuckin’ _worth somethin’._ Good thing you promised this’ll work, dad, or else I’d hate myself for the rest of my fuckin’ life even _more_ than I’m already fixin’ to.’”

Ersa spread her arms wide. “Well, _it didn’t fucking WORK, now did it?!”_

She growled, and pounded her fist into her palm. “That sonava _bitch_ \--that fuckin’ piece of _shit_ \--convinced his own goddamned _son_ to go out and be a fuckin’ _monster,_ ‘cause when it comes to kingly shit, Kadaman and all the rest of the Carja all got told their _whole fuckin’ lives_ that the Sun-King _can’t_ be fuckin’ _wrong._ And they ain’t ever had reason to question that, ‘cause Sundom’s been around for five hundred _years;_ clearly they’re doin’ _somethin’_ right.

“And that motherfucker _Jiran_ didn’t pull all this _bullshit_ just ‘cause he’s _nuts,_ oh no--he’s got a fuckin’ hard on for bein’ a conqueror, the Red Raids just let him play _god_ while he’s at it.

“And as for Kadaman--” Ersa shook her head. “That sorry son of a _bitch._ He’s sittin’ there watchin’ all these people _die_ \--he’s seventeen fuckin’ years old, by the way--hopin’ and prayin’ that the _next_ one to die’ll be enough to get the machines to calm the fuck down so they can fuckin’ _stop_ already. And the Sundom’s best machine hunters come up to the king and say ‘hey, your Radiance, this can’t be fuckin’ right. You gotta stop killin’ people, seriously, the fuck is wrong with you?’ And you know what the Mad Sun-King fuckin’ said to them?

“‘Fuck you, how _dare_ you question me, I don’t care that you’re our best defense against the Derangement, _go die in the Sun-Ring.’_ And then the fuckin’ _Thunderjaws_ show up, and Kadaman realizes two things. One, his dad is just a _crazy asshole_ after all, and two, _no one_ is safe.

“Now his dad wants to keep usin’ _him_ on Raids, cause the poor bastard is _good_ at it, but you know who his dad _can_ spare to throw in the Sun-Ring, if Kadaman steps outta line?”

She pointed to Avad. “ _His little fuckin’ brother._ Who was twelve _fuckin’_ years old when this shit started. And about five years in, that asshole gets _married_ again, just to have _another_ son that’s _way_ easier to kill to keep them _both_ in line. Now I don’t know about you, but I sure as _shit_ woulda done the _same fuckin’ thing_ if it kept _my_ little brother safe. That plus the fact that Jiran’s turned Meridian into a fuckin’ _snake pit_ even _before_ the Raids means that Kadaman-- _and_ Avad--had to play the _long_ game. They’ve _both_ been workin’ on ending the Red Raids for at _least_ eight fuckin’ years.

“And it ain’t as simple as just killin’ their dad, or they’d’ve done it already. His fuckin’ kestrels are _everywhere,_ and they’ve got the same kinda hard on as their maniac of a king. _Most_ of the Carja just want this shit to _stop,_ but they’re all scared shitless. What _they_ need is for someone to come in and shove a boot so far up the Mad Sun-King’s ass that he _chokes on it._

“And that’s what Prince Avad here has just hired us to do. And the reason _he’s_ here? Is ‘cause after _ten goddamn years,_ his poor fuckin’ brother couldn’t take it anymore, and stood up in front of half the Sundom and _demanded_ that his dad stop the Red Raids. So the Mad Sun-King threw his _son_ in the Sun-Ring, just like all the rest.”

 _That’s not what happened,_ Avad thought distantly. Her analysis of why Itamen was born was as good as his, but Kada--but the older prince would _never_ have been so foolish as to jeopardize his plans by calling out their father out of mere _guilt._ Getting thrown in the Sun-Ring _was_ the plan, to provide a _distraction_ for Avad to escape.

But of course Ersa didn’t know that. No one could. And no one _would,_ except for Avad, unless he told them.

He couldn’t stand to even think of his brother’s _name._

“So that’s how we got here,” Ersa was saying. “As to where we’re goin’? Well, we all know how crazy the Carja are about Meridian. Accordin’ to their ways, you gotta hold Meridian to be called Sun-King. And _no one_ but one of the heirs to the throne can lay a finger on another one, or else they’ll _all_ start freakin’ the fuck out about ‘twilight times’ and shit, and it ain’t worth the bother.

“So Prince Avad here has hired us to take him to Meridian and kick down their door--and make sure it don’t crush his people underneath it when we do--so he can go in and have a little ‘chat’ with the piece of _shit_ that killed one brother and is holdin’ the other hostage. On top of that, he’s made _us_ his personal Vanguard, to replace the kestrels once we plucked all their fuckin’ feathers out. Anyone who wants to get out of this cold shithole is welcome to stay on once we got Meridian secure. Startin’ today, we’re gettin’ ten percent on top of last year’s rates--I see you back there asshole, I know you’re here just for the shards, stop _droolin’._ We’ll be renegotiatin’ for anyone who wants to stay on once we’re done the first bit, and if I know one thing about Avad? He’s got _excellent_ fuckin’ manners, so when he’s grateful, he knows how to fuckin’ _show_ it. And he’ll be _damn_ grateful for each and every one of us who wants to keep on with him, and _I_ sure as hell intend to.

“So as of right now, all us freebooters are the prince’s Vanguard. I’m now Captain Ersa Vanguardswoman, and my brother’s Lieutenant Erend Vanguardsman. And this here is Prince Avad of the Dawn’s Rising, the next in line to be Sun-King of the Carja’s Sundom, and our new boss and patron. If you got questions, now’s the time to ask, but there are _some_ thing’s we’re keepin’ hush, so don’t throw a fuckin’ fit if I tell you to stuff it. Avad?”

Avad blinked, and found himself looking out of his own eyes at Ersa. Beyond her, the Oseram were murmuring amongst themselves. The crowd stretched beyond the square, spilling into the pathways between the rows of tents They looked… concerned. Curious, definitely, and skeptical, and more than a little grumpy. Some were angry.

But despite the fact that their commander had just told them that one of the two men who was directly responsible for destroying their homes and enslaving their families was _not_ an irredeemable monster, on top of the fact that they now worked _for_ a Carja prince, they did not look rebellious.

How did she do that? And... _why?_

Avad stepped up to stand next to his captain, and looked over what was, technically, his Vanguard. He’d been trained for public speaking his whole life, though he had little practice, thanks to his father’s disdain of him. He’d been long used to the idea that one day, he would speak to much larger crowds than this, but never one so potentially hostile. What was _he_ supposed to say to _them?_

“Thank you,” Avad said, folding his hands behind his back. Even if they all turned their backs on him now, they had _listened,_ and he was so, so grateful.

The crowd erupted suddenly into shouted questions.

Ersa whistled sharply. “ _Hey!_ One at a time, assholes! Stop actin’ like you ain’t ever petitioned the Ealdormen before, for _fuck’s_ sake.” She pointed to a young-looking man with a severely broken nose. “You first.”

“You gonna make us _more_ Carja now?” he asked.

“... More?” Avad looked quizzically at Ersa.

“I been usin’ the Carja way for ranks,” she explained. “Normally it’s just the warlord and whoever he picks to lead a chunk of the company. Ranks are better for discipline.”

“I’ve brought some of my honor guard,” Avad said to the young man. “They’re all experts in various aspects of running an army--tactics, strategy, logistics, and so on. I’ll be leaving it to Captain Ersa to decide which of our ways will suit you or and which won’t.”

“So no feathers?”

“I’ll be leaving that to Captain Ersa as well.”

A chuckle rolled through the crowd. Avad tried to look unsurprised; he hadn’t been trying to be funny.

“What about when we’re the Vanguard?” a woman shouted from near the forges. Ersa scowled at her for speaking out of turn, but didn’t reprimand her.

“You’re already my Vanguard,” Avad said, “provided that you do not decide to leave. Ersa will remain captain once we reach Meridian, and I will continue to trust her judgement on what works for you and what does not. You’ll need to know enough to work alongside the rest of the Sundom’s forces, but between what she’s already done and what she might yet learn from my honor guard, I do not anticipate that will be a problem.”

She seemed content with that answer, so Ersa scanned the crowd and called on another woman. She was older, and wore an aged apron liberally splashed with brown stains. A cook, perhaps, or a surgeon.

“When can our people come back home? The ones the kestrels took.”

“As soon as we are able to transport them,” Avad said. “There’s logistics to consider--they’ll all need escorts, and some will need medical care before they’re fit enough to travel. But _every_ captured slave will be returned to their tribe.” It seemed far too easy a question to have been asked, given the circumstances, until Avad realized what the woman must be thinking. “There will be no sorting through slaves to decide which ones were legal purchases and which were captured in the Raids-- _all_ slavery will be illegal in the Sundom. I will _not_ allow any person to be treated as property, for any reason or any length of time.”

A murmur went through the crowd. The Oseram had never practiced true slavery, per se, but indentured servitude was often used as a way to clear debts in the Claim, and was openly recognized as _temporary_ slavery. Not to mention the fact that women in the Claim became property when they were wed as a matter of course.

Ersa next called on a woman with a sheared head with a greatsword on her back, who stood with several other similar women--a Bladewife.

“What will you do with the butchers?” she asked, eyes cold.

“I can’t condemn a man simply for participating in the Raids,” he told her, meeting her gaze levelly. “Otherwise I’d have to arrest the whole army. But I will be conducting investigations to find those who went above and beyond the call of ‘duty.’ Some will be easy to find, since my father has chosen to honor them. We will also be looking into those who owned or managed slaves--for active cruelty, beyond the crime of ownership. I will require my Vanguard’s assistance in these matters, since you will be the only force in the Sundom to have no such atrocities to hide. All who are arrested will be given a fair trial.”

“The Stacker of Corpses gets a _trial?”_

“That man’s trial will either be very short, due to how damning the evidence against him is, or very long, due to the sheer volume of it.”

The Bladewives shared a look amongst themselves. Another spoke up.

“What about the Sun-Priests?”

“They will be put on trial as well,” Avad said. In the Sundom, such a statement would have caused outrage, but here the Bladewife only nodded, satisfied.

Ersa pointed to a man with a salt-and-pepper beard long enough to wear as a scarf.

“You want us to come with you to Meridian and stay there,” the man said, “but only Carja are allowed in. What about our families?”

“Holy Meridian will be open to _all_ tribes, to visit or to settle.”

“You think you’re people are gonna like that, on top of everything else you _say_ you’re gonna do?” he asked skeptically.

Avad took a deep breath and drew himself up to his full height. “I do not care if they like it, they _need_ it. My reign will not be about merely cleaning up after my father’s mistakes. I will be dedicating the rest of my _life_ to ensure that my father remains _the_ Mad Sun-King, and not simply the _first_ Mad Sun-King.”

The prince looked over the crowd. “The Carja are proud, just like any other tribe--we all think our ways are the best, or else we’d use someone else’s and claim it as our own. But my people have grown _arrogant,_ and in their arrogance, they’ve forgotten that there are whole tribes of people just as good as they are. _That_ is how my father was able to convince them to go along with his Red Raids. And _that_ is the way of thinking that I mean to dismantle, to prevent the Carja from allowing another abomination like the Red Raids to happen ever again. For the good of the world, my people must be _humbled._

“And the first step to humble them,” Avad continued, “is to _defeat_ them. If we can take Holy Meridian away from my father’s kestrels, and take it whole, only spilling the blood of those who would take up arms to defend my father’s crimes, we will _prove_ that there are better armies than the Sundom’s armies. That there are better _people_ than the Sundom’s people, who allowed slaughter and torture and rapine.

“I need _you_ to be my Vanguard because I need _you_ to save my people. And to save everyone from them, forever. I need _your_ help.”

He took a shuddering breath. _“Please.”_

There was a moment of silence. Ersa stepped forward, put one hand on his shoulder and raised the other above her head.

“Who else is with the prince?” she asked.

Erend’s hand went up first. Arms started going up in twos and threes throughout the muttering crowd, until there were so many that Avad couldn’t tell if anyone _wasn’t_ volunteering.

The prince looked over the crowd in amazement. He bowed his head to them, unable to speak.

“All right then, Vanguard,” said the captain. “Anyone thinkin’ of leavin’, you got a week to decide, and you’ll get the whole seven days paid at the prince’s rate. Anyone who ditches after that’ll be charged with desertion. If you want out, toss it up the chain of command. If you wanna sign with the regulars, go ahead, just know that _they_ might be comin’ along too, and they don’t pay as well as Avad. Now get _back to work!”_

Avad closed his eyes. She had done it. The plan was _still_ working. He could hardly believe it.

Ersa clapped him on the shoulder, making him jump.

“That’s the hard part done,” she said, grinning at him. “C’mon, let’s get you and your boys settled in, then I can see about that dinner I owe you.”

Avad shook his head to clear it. “Very well.”

The drop hammers started up again as they descended from the stage. The crowd was dispersing with a quickness, the freebooters eager to get back to whatever they were doing before he had shown up. Which, judging by the cacophony of voices, was arguing.

Ersa had been right, of course, back in Sunfall. It really was _the_ Oseram pastime.

Avad touched his cheek and was surprised to find it dry. He frowned at his fingers, then grimaced--he _still_ hadn’t wiped the _spit_ off his hand. He gave up hoping for a handkerchief and wiped his palm discreetly on his trousers as Erend joined them, taking his place next to his sister.

Ersa snickered--not discreetly enough, then.

Avad gave her an unamused look. “This is the part where you tell me the spitting was entirely unnecessary, isn’t it?”

“You think I’d do that to you, Avad?” she asked with a smirk, as they approached the command tent and his waiting honor guard.

“We were friends before today,” he reminded her, “which is how I _know_ that yes, you would.”

“Aw, are we not friends anymore?”

“We are,” the prince admitted easily. “I’m merely noting that you’re just as terrible as ever.”

Ersa grinned. “Clearly you _like_ terrible.”

Avad sighed. “Clearly I must be _mad.”_

“Well, you _are_ Carja.”

“And my father’s son,” he mused. “So I suppose if I have to be mad about _something,_ I’d rather it be about _you_ than anything else.”

She laughed. “That’s the fuckin’ spirit.” She beckoned the four Carja guards. At Avad’s nod, they followed. “We’ll put you lot in the manor with me. Your royal ass can take the master bedroom; the bed’s too fuckin’ soft for me. And your boys can pick whatever rooms they want to keep an eye on you. Some of my officers had to go back to their clans, so we probably don’t even gotta shuffle anybody out to make room.”

The manor was a three story monstrosity that looked to be made of two oversized Oseram-style dome houses fused together.

“The troops call it the tit house,” Ersa told him brightly.

Avad sighed. “Of course they do.”

Erend laughed, and went to help his honor guard with the cart.

The fixtures inside were nowhere near as fine as Avad would have expected from a ‘manor,’ but they were all clearly sturdy and well-made. They’d probably been in this house for decades, and would remain for decades more. From the perspective of the Oseram, he supposed this was a very opulent show of wealth indeed.

Ersa took him upstairs to the master bedroom. It took up the entirety of the third floor of the leftmost dome, its only entrance being a spiral staircase forged of steel. Avad placed his travel bag on the oversized bed as Ersa gathered up her things from where they’d inevitably migrated around the room.

“Where will you sleep now?” Avad asked.

“Second floor somewhere,” she said absently as she gathered up some papers from the desk. “I’ll let your guard have first pick, since they gotta worry about strategic positions and such. All I really need is room enough for a bed and a desk, I hold all my sit downs in the livin’ room anyway.”

Avad nodded, watching her.

“Alright, I _think_ that’s all my shit,” she said with a final glance around the room, and headed for the trap door by the wall. A recess in the wall housed two pull cords and a bell attached to a third cord. She tugged one of the pull cords and the trap door unfolded into a railing, fitting seamlessly with the spiral staircase below.

“Ersa?” Avad asked softly.

“Hm?” she asked, adjusting the makeshift sack she’d made to carry her things in.

“Why did you… say all of that?”

Ersa turned to look him in the eye. “He was your fuckin’ _brother,_ and judgin’ by the look on your face, you _watched_ him die. I wasn’t about to let you sit here and listen to people badmouth him.” She shrugged. “‘Sides, if they can’t deal with the fact that Kadaman ain’t their enemy, I don’t want them there when we’re kickin’ in your dad’s door. We’re tryna _stop_ the Red Raids, not _reverse_ ‘em.”

Avad swallowed thickly and was amazed that he wasn’t bawling his eyes out. _“Thank you.”_

She rolled her eyes. “I’m the captain of your fuckin’ Vanguard now. Protectin’ you is my _job,_ and from more than just bein’ stabbed. No need to _thank_ me for it.”

Avad wrapped his arms around himself. “Well, I’m thanking you anyway.”

She waved it away, then pointed to the recess in the wall. “Dinner’ll be served in a couple hours, they’ll ring this bell to call you down. The other cord here rings the servant’s bell downstairs, but we don’t bother with servants, so just ignore it.” She frowned. “Actually, I’ll mention it to your guard. They may wanna use it for like, if trouble finds you up here or somethin’.”

“Thank you, captain,” he said again. “For everything.”

Ersa rolled her eyes. “Whatever, pretty boy. You just relax for awhile; you’ll be eatin’ with me in the officer’s mess tent tonight.”

“I’ll see you at dinner, then,” Avad said. Ersa gave him a sloppy Carja salute, then descended the stairs.

Avad pulled the cord again, and the trapdoor folded in on itself. He gently laid the circlet of the Dawn’s Rising on the desk and hung his cross-armor over the back of the chair. Then he went to the bed and sat down on it. It was certainly _very_ soft, if rather lumpy. The whole room, like the rest of the manor, was unfamiliar and strange. It was at once too simple and too ornate for what it was supposed to be--no inlaid gold or fine carvings, but full of cleverly hidden tinkerings in unexpected places.

The prince let himself flop bonelessly backwards onto the bed. He was in an unfamiliar land, in a stranger’s home, surrounded on all sides by a foreign army whose allegiance had been bought with shards. He should, by all rights, feel anxious, if not outright terrified.

Avad placed his hand over his heart, feeling its calm, steady beat.

That army was _Ersa’s_ army, her Vanguard. The woman herself was just downstairs, and in a little while, she’d summon him so she could feed him, then send him back here to sleep.

Avad closed his eyes. For the first time in ten long, blood-drenched years, he was _safe._

 _Ba-thump_ went his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALOY: There’s a whole world beyond your borders. Whole tribes of people just as good as you, and it is all in danger.
> 
> AVAD: Ersa has a way of making her people see reason.
> 
> And that way is mostly by swearing a lot. Ersa’s speech was mostly a retelling of stuff we already know, but I HAD to include it. It’s an incredibly important and historic moment, and the fact that it is so full of swears makes me giggle. Hopefully you're all as entertained by Ersa's take on things as I am.
> 
> I spent a very long time debating whether or not the word "bullshit" would exist in a world without cows. There's a character that references "Grazer dung" in the game, and I figured that "bull" could be used to refer to Tramplers, so I kept it. Don't think too hard about the vocabulary of the tribes in Horizon, kids, you'll give yourself an aneurysm.


	12. Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t really know a good way to spell this out in the narration, so I’m gonna give you the rundown of Avad’s Oseram look. He’s wearing a white linen long sleeve shirt, and over that he’s wearing his cross-armor. Then he’s got long trousers tucked into Oseram boots, and Kadaman’s sword (the same one from the game) hanging from his left hip. He typically wears fingerless gloves (keeps his hands warm while allowing him to use a bow with the same dexterity he’s used to), and keeps a pair of mittens hanging from his belt (worn over the gloves to keep his fingers warm). He also wears a fur-lined hooded cloak, an orange scarf (check Erend’s player model, it’s the same color as his scarf or shirt or whatever that is), and the circlet of the Dawn’s Rising. He’s also wearing his usual face-paint. Might add some more layers of clothing as winter settles in.
> 
> Also of note: Avad is definitely skinnier at this point in time than he is in the game. He’s been regularly skipping meals since he was 15, because of the Sun-Ring, in spite of Kadaman’s efforts to shove food in his face.

Avad had taken to watching the Sun make for the horizon out of one of the tiny windows in the curved walls of ‘his’ bedroom when the little bell rang. He opened the trapdoor and went down a few steps to find Erend waiting for him in what was apparently some sort of sitting room/ hallway hybrid. His honor guard were sat around a small table in alcove with a clear view of the spiral staircase.

“Should I wear this?” the prince asked the Oseram, tapping his circlet.

“Uh,” Erend said with a confused look. “It looks fine, so... sure?”

“I meant, is this a formal occasion?” Avad clarified. “Ersa said I’d be joining her in the officer’s mess, but I don’t know if she means to make introductions or simply have dinner.”

The Oseram shrugged. “Well, you’ll be meeting some of them.”

Avad nodded and descended the rest of the way. He tugged the pull cord at the base of the spiral stairs, and the trapdoor above him folded shut.

“Your Radiance,” Janeva greeted as he and another guard joined them.

Avad frowned. “We’re among allies now. I hardly need an additional escort.”

“They’re not your Vanguard _yet_ , your Radiance,” Janeva reminded him, expertly walking the thin line between proper reverence for royalty and chastising his charge. “They’ve been given until the end of the week to decide where their allegiance lies.”

“And they won’t choose to ally _with_ me if I treat them with suspicion,” Avad countered. “I only have the four of you here, so you should focus your working hours on watching my room, which will keep me safe _and_ avoid insulting the Oseram.”

“Your Radiance,” Janeva said with a flat look. “ _Please._ ”

Avad sighed. Janeva hadn’t been with him long, but he’d already figured out that his new prince had trouble enough refusing reasonable requests, let alone ones that were also _polite._

“ _Fine,_ ” he relented. “But only _one._ Someone still needs to watch my room at all times, and you all need to eat dinner as well.”

“Yes, your Radiance,” Janeva said, and the second guard saluted and went back to his comrades, a little too quickly for this outcome to have been unexpected.

“I hope you were paying attention, lieutenant,” Avad said as they descended to the first floor. “Someday soon it will be up to _you_ to manage me.”

“It’s not too hard,” Janeva assured him. “Just say ‘please.’ He’ll break quick enough.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” Erend agreed.

Avad sighed again.

Outside, the prince turned to the Oseram with a frown.

“May I ask you a personal question, lieutenant?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “If it’s personal, you better call me Erend.”

“Erend,” Avad said, “I’d noticed that you seem… uncommonly at peace with following your sister’s commands. Or I _think_ it’s uncommon, based on what I know of the Oseram.”

“Yeah, it’s uncommon, alright,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Not so much with the freebooters here, but they wouldn’t _be_ here if they had too much of a problem with it. They either get over it quick or get the boot.”

“How did you ‘get over it?’”

“She’s my sister,” Erend explained. “Our parents died when I was just a kid, and she worked her ass off to make sure we had food on the table, and she was what, twelve? Thirteen? And she hunted machines to do it, and this was back when the Derangement was just kickin’ up. A lot of machine-hunters were calling it quits now that it was _dangerous,_ but Ersa just jumped right in. And she wasn’t just good at it, she _enjoyed_ it.

“So when I started hearing people say that she shouldn’t do this or couldn’t do that just because she was a girl, well, _obviously_ they were full of shit. So I never really had anything to ‘get over,’ other than wanting to bash people’s heads in for being stupid. But Ersa always took care of that part herself, so, eh.”

“You're a good brother,” Avad said, because it would have been so easy to give into jealousy or a wounded ego and ignore the empirical evidence of his sister’s worth, even without the rest of his tribe encouraging him to do so. Erend just shrugged.

“What about you, trusting her with all this?” he asked. “The Carja don’t have _any_ women in their armies, not even Bladewives.”

“Ah, well,” Avad said, frowning in thought for a few strides. “Based on my understanding of the Oseram, the difference between you and the Carja, when it comes to women, is that you think women have _no_ strength, while we think women have their _own_ strength. A Carja lady’s strengths are things of beauty and grace that come from the heart--art, dancing, motherhood, and so on. The exact expectations vary based on your status--a noblewoman ought to be a skilled diplomat, while a commoner might need to know how to run a shop, for instance. In general, a good Carja wife is meant to be good company for her husband, and to support him in all things. A partnership, though not an equal one. For the Oseram, I believe you expect your wives to be obedient more than anything else. Oseram men don’t look to their wives for friendship, for example. Is that accurate?”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Erend said. “Women here get told to go learn a trade just to find a husband. And then a lotta guys’ll talk about how they want their wife to be their partner, but the second she’s just as good or better than them at somethin’, they start throwing tantrums. All most of ‘em _really_ want is someone who knows enough of what they’re talking about to say _‘ooo, ahh'_ at the right time.”

Avad chuckled. “Well, the Carja would have dismissed a girl machine-hunter too--I know of a few noblewomen who hunt, and they’re often ridiculed for it. And I, well--I like to tell myself that I wasn’t _rude_ about it, but I didn’t disagree. Women had their places and their strengths, and those were equally _important_ as a man’s, but they were plainly seen to be _separate._ There were exceptions, of course, but they only served to prove the rule.” Avad snorted at his own foolishness. “Funnily enough, it was my father who proved me wrong.”

__

Erend’s eyebrows rose in shock. “ _Really?_ ”

__

The prince nodded. “And with his Red Raids and the Sun-Ring, no less. For one there’s the Banuk, who only care about a person’s sex when it comes to siring and bearing children. But for them, those are just things that people _do,_ not what defines who they _are._ And the Banuk are easily the most effective fighters in the Sun-Ring, with no difference in ability between their men and women.

__

“And then there’s the Nora,” Avad went on, “who _also_ have their men and women fight equally, but more than that, they are governed _solely_ by women. Their faith and their whole culture revolve around motherhood and femininity. And they’ve consistently put up the _best_ defense against my father’s kestrels, better even than Ersa has, and they disdain using metal.”

__

“Sounds like you’d rather have a Nora Vanguard.”

__

“I would if I could,” the prince told him truthfully, “but one of the things that makes them so effective is that they only fight for and within their Sacred Land. They’re cursed by their goddess if they leave without the proper rites, and their Matriarchs aren’t about to bless a whole army to go save a city of sinners that calls itself holy. In a perfect world--well, _more_ perfect, seeing how the Raids would still exist--I’d have Nora braves clad in Oseram steel fighting for me. It would certainly do a lot more to force open the hearts of the Carja, being indebted to ‘savages’ for liberating Holy Meridian and saving them from my father.”

__

Erend chuckled. “I guess we’ll just have to settle for being second best, then.”

__

“Second best defensively, first best offensively,” Avad corrected. “And considering that we’re to be on the offensive come spring, that puts you on at _least_ an even footing with the Nora in my estimation.”

__

“Still, better not let the troops here you say that.”

__

“Of course not. Besides, you have my utmost confidence, or I wouldn’t have made you my Vanguard; I’d have simply hired you to bring me to Meridian and nothing more,” said the prince. “Also, in that perfect world? I’d still want Ersa to be my captain, with you as her lieutenant.”

__

“I’ll take it,” said Erend, trying not to preen. Avad smothered a smile. Erend struck him as a man who was used to only feeling pride on behalf of others and not in himself. The prince knew next to nothing about his capabilities, but Ersa wouldn't have him as her second if he didn’t deserve it, brother or not, as she was hardly one to suffer fools.

__

“I do have one more question,” said Avad, as the smell of food wafted their way from the mess tent up ahead.

__

“Shoot.”

__

“Why don’t you swear as much as Ersa?”

__

He threw his head back and laughed. “I’m pretty sure it’s ‘cause someone told her not to.”

__

“That does sound rather likely,” Avad observed dryly as they approached the mess tent. Inside were several long tables with benches that sat three to a side. Erend led the two Carja men up to the kitchen area at one end, where they were each given a tray with a bowl of thick stew, a half loaf of hard bread, a flagon of buttery-smelling ale, and an apple. Avad suspected that this wasn’t much different than what the rest of the army would be eating; Ersa seemed the type. In the Carja army, there would at least be a vast difference in the quality of ingredients between what the officers and the enlisted men ate, if not an entirely different menu. The kestrels were an exception. Avad had heard from Kad--had heard that Helis demanded his officers prove their worthiness by eating foods prepared only for their ability to sustain them, and not for taste.

__

A whistle beckoned them over to Ersa’s table, who sat flanked by two women. One was middle aged and wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off a pair of strong arms, despite the cold weather. The other was a Bladewife with mostly dark skin, with pale patches like splattered paint. Avad took his seat across from Ersa, and the other two men sat on either side of him.

__

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Ersa said, raising a skeptical eyebrow at his circlet. This was _not_ to be a formal occasion, then. Oops.

__

“Nice of you to wait for your guests to arrive before you started eating,” Avad countered mildly, noting her half empty bowl.

__

Ersa rolled her eyes. “Fuck _you,_ pretty boy.”

__

“I believe I’ll be declining that offer, but thank you, I’m flattered.”

__

Ersa snorted. “Bitch, you _had_ your chance and you blew it.”

__

The bare-armed woman looked up from her food with a wide-eyed look. “Uh, what?”

__

Erend snickered.

__

Avad sighed and scooped a spoonful of stew, waiting for it to cool. “Ersa, please.”

__

She wiggled her eyebrows. “Please _what?_ ”

__

“ _Please_ tell your officers how we met before they think of something _awkward._ ”

__

Ersa smirked. “So you remember how I said Avad here got me out of the Sun-Ring? Well, the sweet little virgin prince convinced his dad that he wanted to fuck the big bad barbarian that just beat two of his best men to death in front of the whole Sundom.”

__

The bare-armed woman’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. The Bladewife stilled.

__

Avad made a face. “I hardly phrased it like _that._ ”

__

“Oh yeah? What did you say to him?”

__

“I said you were impressive.”

__

She waited a moment as he ate his stew and cocked an eyebrow. “That’s it? You just said ‘she’s impressive,’ and he went ‘okay kid, I’ll doll her up and have her waitin’ half naked with your dinner?’”

__

“Mm-hm,” Avad said, and swallowed. “You do recall that he was hoping you’d kill me, right?”

__

“Because you tried to make her your personal _whore,_ ” the Bladewife said, eyes flashing.

__

Ersa waved her off. “And if he’d meant it for even a _second,_ he’d be long dead. Avad just needed to get me alone to start conspirin’ with me, and seein’ as how I got out and we’re both here _now,_ it fuckin’ _worked._ ”

__

“Wait, hang on,” said Erend, holding up a hand. “The Mad Sun-King was trying to kill his sons _two years ago?_ ”

__

“Just me,” Avad corrected. “And to be fair, he wasn’t trying _terribly_ hard. It was more that he wouldn’t _mind_ very much if I died.”

__

“Doesn’t he need you to, you know,” Erend gestured wildly with his spoon, “continue the Radiant Line and all that?”

__

“Yes, but he _wants_ to continue the Red Raids, or at least _a_ war,” Avad told him. “He knows that I would _never,_ so I’d be no great loss. Now, he’s hoping that he can raise Itamen to do so, since he won’t have any memory of a time _without_ war.”

__

“And he was tryna force Kadaman into doin’ it after he died,” Ersa put in, as Avad watched himself stare into his bowl from above. “That’s why he was sent to Raid every tribe, so we’d all be too pissed at him personally to agree to peace, once he was Sun-King.”

__

The bare-armed woman stared at Avad. “Your dad fucking _sucks._ ”

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Avad forced himself to focus. “That is plainly seen,” Avad agreed. “My apologies, Ersa’s lack of manners has made me forget my own. You are?”

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“Petra Forgewoman,” she said, offering a hand. Avad shook it; her grip was strong and her hand was more calluses than not.

__

Ersa narrowed her eyes. “Fuck you, my manners are good enough to have you come crawlin’ to me for help.”

__

Avad raised an eyebrow. “Your ‘manners’ are hardly why I’m here. When I first met you, you were helping yourself to my dinner, and then you tried to kill me with a fork.”

__

She pointed her spoon at him. “Excuse _you,_ if I was tryna kill you I’d’ve stuck that fork in your _eye,_ not your throat. And I’m payin’ back that dinner _now,_ smartass, so eat up.”

__

“I do believe _I’m_ the one financing this meal,” Avad said, “so I rather think you still owe me that dinner. Come to think of it, you owe me quite a _lot_ of meals, so even if I declared that first dinner repaid, you’d still be indebted to me.”

__

“Bitch, I am tryna put your pretty ass on a _throne._ ”

__

“An endeavor that I am _also_ paying you for.”

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Ersa made a face. “Forget I ever said you have a tongue made of honey, it’s all piss and vinegar these days.”

__

“I think that’s just this... _stew,_ ” said the prince, stirring it idly. “I ought to demand a refund.”

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Ersa glared at him. Avad returned it with a withering look.

__

She broke first, grinning. “Good to see you finally learned how to dish out the sass, pretty boy.”

__

Avad bowed his head gratefully to her. “I learned from the best.”

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Petra looked between the two of them. “Ersa, have you been quenchin’ the boss’s steel or not?”

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Ersa looked smug. “Does he _look_ like he’s been broken in half?”

__

“ _Ack,_ ” said Erend, covering his ears.

__

Avad rolled his eyes. “My apologies,” he said to the third woman, “I’m afraid I let my friend distract me again. What is _your_ name?”

__

The patched-skinned woman looked him in the eye. “I’m the commander of the Bladewives.”

__

When she offered nothing else, Avad nodded respectfully to her. “Ma’am,” he said. He gestured to the man sitting across from her. “Ladies, this is Commander Janeva, the head of my honor guard.”

__

The Bladewife nodded respectfully to him. “Sister.”

__

Janeva’s jaw clenched. “I’m not anybody’s _sister._ ” It was only out of deference to his prince that he didn’t sneer.

__

“In addition to commanding my honor guard,” Avad said into the suddenly awkward moment, “ _he_ is also a specialist in Carja logistic strategies.” When the Bladewife’s eyebrows rose skeptically, Avad continued. “There are, at the moment, no women serving in the Sundom’s armed forces.”

__

“What do you call _us,_ then?” Ersa asked, gesturing to herself and her two original companions.

__

“My _personal_ army, not the Sundom’s,” Avad told her.

__

“That reminds me,” Ersa said, neatly steering them away from a clearly volatile topic, “the Vanguard’s supposed to be the _Sun-King’s_ personal army, ain’t it? But you seem to be particular about bein’ called ‘prince.’”

__

Avad nodded. “This is the first royal succession crisis in the Sundom’s history, so I’m treading new ground. It’s something of a balancing act--if I act too much like a Sun-King before I take the throne, I’ll look incompetant. But if I don’t act _enough_ like a Sun-King while I try to take it, I’ll look unworthy.”

__

“So it’s just managin’ how much your dad likes you all over again,” she said, taking a bite of her apple.

__

“Not that he’s ever _liked_ me, but yes. There’s quite a bit more on the line now than merely my life, but at least my audience is a bit more sane.” He ate another spoonful of stew. “Speaking of acting like a Sun-King, I need to send a letter to my father. Do you have a messenger who can fake being Carja for long enough to deliver a message?”

__

Ersa raised an eyebrow. “Not any that I’m willing to send to your dad, no.”

__

Avad shook his head. “I won’t be sending it to him _directly._ I have a contact in Meridian, they’ll make sure he gets it without knowing where it came from, other than my own hand.”

__

“What good is a letter to daddy dearest gonna do?”

__

“I’m hoping it will keep him in Meridian,” Avad said. “I want to end this with a single battle, so I need him to stay there so I can take the throne from him directly. My father doesn’t take me seriously, so there’s a possibility that he’ll decide to keep to his usual schedule and go to Sunfall come spring. It would show our people that even with an army at my back, I’m not worth being worried about, nevermind being worthy of the throne.”

__

“What about all the fuss about the throne in Meridian?” Erend asked. “And now you’re saying he’d just _surrender_ it?”

__

Avad huffed irritably. “The thing about my father is that he is both cunning _and_ mad, which makes him difficult to predict. Leaving Meridian undefended _would_ be mad, but since he _is,_ well… I can think of a number of ways he may try to spin it. He could take all his kestrels and soldiers out of the city, let us get settled in, then try to force us out again, and _he_ wouldn’t care about the collateral damage in the slightest. Then he’d make some speech about how it was all a test from the Sun and the civilians failed to defend Holy Meridian, and so they deserved to die. And he’s _very_ good at manipulating the Carja.”

__

“Or he could leave a bunch of saboteurs behind,” Ersa pointed out. “We’d be bleedin’ out before the proper battle started. Fire and spit, he could take a note from Dervahl and booby trap the whole damn _city._ And if he’s willin’ to not bother gettin’ _you_ in the blast, he don’t even gotta do any proper tinkerin’. Just shove enough blaze in enough places and light it up as soon as he’s clear.”

__

Avad grimaced. “I want to say that not even my father is _that_ mad, but he may well be. He’s obsessed with ‘strength’ and sees me as weak, so he _might_ decide that Meridian is better off going up in flames than being allowed to be ruled by me. But that would require him to believe that he could _lose_ to me, and far enough in advance to have the time to set that up, so I think it’s the less likely option by far.”

__

“I get that you know him better,” Ersa said, “but _both_ of those options would be hammerin’ his own thumb in the long run. You Carja are crazy about Meridian, and your Radiant Line, but once it’s their own kin and homes bein’ burnt, people'll toss their faith right out the window. Won’t his advisors talk him out of doin’ somethin’ _that_ crazy?”

__

“Some might _want_ to,” Avad said, thinking of Marad, “but at this point, I don’t think anyone is willing to say ‘no’ to him. They’re either too frightened to argue or too fanatical to even want to. I’d say the only real way to convince him to do something is to make him think it’s his own idea.”

__

“Which you think you can do with a letter.”

__

“I do not know if I _can,_ but I want to provide the option,” Avad said. “My contact in Meridian has a better idea than I how my father’s mind works. I’ll write the letter, give it to them, and let them decide when the best time to deliver it is. If they think it’s too risky--for the war effort or my people--they won’t deliver it at all. So worst case, it’s a wasted effort; your messenger won’t be in any real danger, it’s about as low-risk of a drop-off as you can get.”

__

Ersa’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a lotta faith you got in this contact of yours.”

__

“When you meet them, you’ll understand,” Avad told her, picking up his apple. “I’ll tell you how to identify them when we’re on the march. I will not risk giving them away until I absolutely must.”

__

“I’ll need to see this letter before I commit one of my people to carryin’ it,” Ersa said.

__

Avad nodded. “Naturally. You’re the captain of my Vanguard; not keeping you informed of something that could have military repercussions would be foolish.”

__

“Dervahl’s gonna wanna see it too,” Erend pointed out.

__

“Where _is_ Dervahl?” Avad asked suddenly, abandoning his search for a knife to look around the tent. The officers at the other tables were not-so-discreetly listening to their conversation ( _very shrewd of you, Ersa_ ) but Dervahl was not among them.

__

“His workshop,” Petra said. “He lives in there over the winter, while we’re camped. If he could put the thing on wheels, he’d stay in there all year.”

__

“Don’t say that in front of him,” Ersa said seriously, “or he _will._ ”

__

Avad’s brain stuttered over the beginnings of a joke-- _like I asked you not to call him a cad?_ \--and he forced himself to breathe as he focused on the apple in his hand, and on not bruising it in his grip.

__

Across the table, Ersa pulled her hunting knife from her belt and held it out to him. Avad blinked at it dumbly, before taking it and cutting a wedge from his apple.

__

“Thank you, captain,” he said. She waved it away.

__

“Anyway, about that messenger,” Ersa said. “We gotta couple smugglers who trade on the sly with Bright Market. They give us info in exchange for us turnin’ a blind eye. One in particular I think’ll deliver this for us, but he ain’t due back for a coupla weeks, so you got some time to write your letter up nice and pretty.”

__

“I’ll get started on it tomorrow,” said Avad, slipping an apple slice in his mouth.

__

“Nope,” she said, “tomorrow you are _full up._ You’re gettin’ up early, we gotta discuss our little surprise for the Stacker of Corpses. Then you’re walkin’ your sweet ass around the whole camp, make sure everyone gets a look at you.”

__

The prince raised an eyebrow. “I thought _I_ was the one in charge here.”

__

Ersa looked deeply unimpressed. “ _Bitch,_ please.”

__

Avad rolled his eyes. “Well, since you asked nicely, I suppose I’ll do as you say, just this once.”

__

“You tell yourself that, pretty boy. These are still my freebooters. _I’m_ in charge here.”

__

Avad bit back a teasing smile. “I believe part of our deal was that we’ll be doing things _my_ way. We ‘spat and swore’ on it and everything.”

__

“ _You,_ ” she said, jabbing her loaf of bread at him, “can _shut the fuck up_ and _eat your fuckin’ bread_.”

__

He picked up his own loaf and knocked it against the tray. It was as hard as a rock, and sounded like it. “All due respect to your chefs, but how?”

__

Still glaring at him, Ersa smeared her own bread in the liquid leftovers of her stew, and tore a chunk out of it with her teeth.

__

“I get it now,” said Petra. “You adopted another little brother.”

__

“I got no need for a little brother that don't even know how to _feed himself,_ ” she groused. She spotted Avad contemplating the serrated edge of her hunting knife and took it off his tray before he could try sawing his bread into slices.

__

“I can feed myself,” Avad defended, smearing the half-loaf around in his bowl with delicate fingers. “I’m hardly a chef, but I can hunt and cook a rabbit just fine.”

__

“Oh good,” Ersa said with a smirk. “You can do your first rotation in the common mess tomorrow for dinner, servin’ the troops.”

__

Avad felt his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “I do hope I won’t be _alone,_ because I do not know what even half of those vegetables I just ate _were,_ let alone how to _cook_ them.” He tried taking a delicate bite of his bread, but that clearly wasn’t going to work. He wound up with a far too big mouthful, with a drop of thick stew broth on his chin.

__

Ersa looked smug as she wiped a smear of stew off her own cheek with her thumb and licked it clean. “They’re potatoes. It’s what we got up here instead of maize. The bread’s made of it, too.”

__

“I’ve seen wheat fields up here, earlier in the year,” said Janeva with a frown. Avad pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his chin clean as he chewed. Ersa rolled her eyes at him.

__

“Yeah but we _drink_ that,” she said, tapping her mug. “We could do it the other way ‘round, of course, but we are fuckin’ _artists_ with brewin’ ale.”

__

“Can’t disagree, if this is _anything_ like what the rest of your men get,” Janeva said, and took a swig. Avad washed his bread down with some of his own ale. It was sweeter than he’d expected Ersa to like, and fruity too. The prince still preferred sweet wine, but he could get used to this.

__

Ersa raised an eyebrow. “This is _exactly_ what the troops get. Didn’t you Carja boys steal enough of our supplies to figure that out by now?”

__

“I was only here once with Prince Kadaman, on his last visit,” Janeva said. Avad went still.

__

Ersa smirked. “Yeah, you boys went home just about empty-handed, huh?”

__

Janeva’s eye twitched. “We were almost short a _prince._ ”

__

Ersa winced. “Yeah, well, you can blame Dervahl for _that_ one, those were all his tinkerin’s, and he didn’t wanna listen to me at the time. I considered sendin’ a spy to warn Kadaman, but, well. One, I couldn’t risk that whoever I tried to use woulda turned me into the clans for treason; and two, I didn’t wanna risk blowin’ his cover, as it were.”

__

Janeva grunted and didn’t press the issue. Avad kept his eyes locked on his empty stew bowl and very carefully _didn’t think._

__

A hand with a mostly-eaten loaf of bread appeared in front of him. He looked up to see Ersa glaring at him again.

__

“ _Eat,_ ” she said. “You are too fuckin’ _skinny._ ”

__

Avad accepted the bread from her. “Yes, captain. Of course, captain. Whatever you say, captain.”

__

Her eyes narrowed. “You used to be cuter.”

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“I will endeavor to achieve such heights again,” he said, mopping up the last of his stew. “Just for you.”

__

“You do that, pretty boy.”

__

\---

__

Later at the manor, Ersa showed the prince the inside of one of the rooms just below his. It had been a small room to start with, most of it taken up by a counter and several cabinets, and was made even smaller by the inclusion of a cot, a desk, a trunk, and an armor stand. Above the counter hung a large salvaged looking-glass of the Old Ones marred only by a single large crack down the center.

__

“This is my room,” Ersa explained. She gestured to the door in the far wall. “Back there’s the water closet. Your guard wants you to use this one, not the one downstairs, since I can watch the door for you.”

__

“... What is a ‘water closet?’” Avad asked.

__

“It’s for bathin’. It’s like a waterfall? Ain’t no bathtub in the house anymore, Dervahl needed it for somethin’. Anyway, you just let me know when you wanna use it, I don’t like people in my space when I ain’t there.”

__

“Of course, captain. Thank you,” Avad said. He hesitated. “May I ask you something?”

__

“You can _ask,_ ” Ersa said. “Can’t say I’ll answer, ‘til I know what it is.”

__

“It’s about Dervahl.”

__

She took a deep breath and crossed her arms, visibly bracing herself. “What do you wanna know?”

__

“When we were discussing terms today he seemed… to take the proceedings rather personally.”

__

Her shoulders relaxed. “You told him to go back on his word,” Ersa said simply.

__

When she didn’t elaborate, Avad raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

__

Ersa raised her own eyebrow right back at him. “Uh, yeah? A man’s only as good as his word, and if he breaks it, his name’s mud. Don’t you Carja take your oaths of fealty and such real serious? If someone asked you to go back on that, wouldn’t you take it personally too?”

__

“Well yes, but--that’s an oath of _fealty,_ ” the prince said. “An oath to serve a lord for the rest of your life, and their vow in return to remain worthy of your service. That’s hardly the same as promising to kill a man with your own two hands, and then being upset that you’re helping someone else land the final blow, instead.”

__

Ersa shrugged. “It’s still a vow. Around here, if you break a vow to a clansman, it’s punishable by death. Not that anyone’s gonna demand Dervahl’s head over this, but he _did_ spit and swear on it. Not keepin’ his word on this is gonna bite him in the ass for the rest of his life.”

__

Avad frowned. “Why would he even _make_ such a vow, then? I understand wanting to kill my father, but if it’s that serious that he keeps his word to the letter, why swear to do something that he’s so unlikely to even get the opportunity to even attempt?”

__

“He did it for his wife and daughter.”

__

“I suppose I understand wanting to protect your family,” Avad allowed. “But still…”

__

Ersa shook her head. “He made that vow after.”

__

“After what?”

__

She gave him a funny look. “After--in the Sun-Ring. Two years ago, remember?”

__

Realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The day in the Sun-Ring when he first saw Ersa. A desperate woman running with her child. A little girl’s cry for her mother, followed by the sound of Helis’s loathsome satisfaction.

__

“That was his _family,_ ” Avad breathed, eyes wide in horror.

__

“You didn’t know?” Ersa asked, surprised and concerned. “Your dad made a speech.”

__

“I wasn’t listening,” he said distantly. “I--I _couldn’t._ I thought they were friends of yours. Or family, maybe.” After their initial confrontation in Sunfall, she hadn’t brought them up again, and Avad hadn’t asked.

__

“They _were_ my family,” she said grimly. “Dervahl too. They took me and Erend into their clan when we were kids, after our parents died. Saved me from my clan tryna marry me off to some geezer old enough to be my granddad. When I figured out that Helis sent some kestrels their way just to grab them, well. I didn’t fuckin’ make it in time, and got my own self nabbed to boot, but I fuckin’ _tried._ ”

__

“I didn’t,” Avad said, swallowing thickly and struggling not to be sick. “I--I just _watched._ That little girl and her _mother..._ ”

__

“ _Hey,_ ” Ersa said, gripping his shoulder. “That ain’t what I meant. I don’t blame _you._ You said it yourself--your dad’s an asshole who thinks only people who can fight oughtta get to live. There wasn’t a _damn_ thing you coulda done for them.”

__

“I got _you_ out, but not them. Dervahl, he--he _must_ blame me.” He looked at her miserably. “He does, doesn’t he? He was angry _before_ I told him he couldn’t keep his word, I thought it was just because I was Carja. He must know you were captured together, or you told him, when you got back. And if he knows I chose to help _you...._ ”

__

She grimaced. “Yeah, okay, he kinda does, but look--I only ever told Erend the whole story, before today. Dervahl only heard it less than an hour before you walked into that tent, so he’s just--he just needs some time, alright?”

__

Avad shook his head. “But I can’t make him work for _me,_ that’s--that’s _cruel._ ”

__

“Bullshit. He ain’t ever gonna _like_ you, but the man’s a fuckin’ genius, he’ll figure it out. Besides, he’s a regular, not a freebooter, so _you_ ain’t makin’ him do _shit._ If he thinks he can’t handle it he can just tell the Ealdormen to pick a new warlord to work with me.”

__

“But… what do I _say_ to him?”

__

Ersa glared. “Don’t you say a fuckin’ _thing,_ just give him time. You just let _me_ deal with him, alright? That’s how it’s gonna be anyway, assumin’ the Ealdormen send regulars with us at all.”

__

Avad took a steadying breath, thinking. “You’ve known him for as long as I’ve been alive. If you say he’ll be all right, then....” He sighed. “I trust your judgement.”

__

She snorted. “I fuckin’ _hope_ you do, seein’ as how you’re askin’ me to invade your holy city without breakin’ it.” She frowned at his chest. “How many shirts you bring with you?”

__

The prince blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Um, two. Why?”

__

“ _Two,_ ” Ersa said, rolling her eyes as she herded him out of her room. “You come all the way up here with all these big plans to overthrow your dad, and you pack _two fuckin’ shirts_ to last you the whole fuckin’ winter.”

__

“To be fair, I didn’t actually pack my own things for this trip.”

__

“Of course you didn’t, your Radianceness,” she scoffed as they reached the spiral staircase. She tugged the pull cord hanging from the ceiling to open the trapdoor at its top. “We’ll find a tailor tomorrow in camp, get your pretty ass some clothes before the _real_ snow starts.”

__

Avad cocked an eyebrow as he mounted the steps. “That is _not_ the proper way to address me.”

__

Ersa grinned up at him. “Sure it is, your Luminosity.”

__

“It’s ‘your Luminance,’” Avad corrected primly as he climbed, “and that’s only for the Sun-King. You should learn the difference if you’re to be a part of my court.”

__

“Whatever you say, your Glowiness.”

__

Avad gave her a flat look. “I take it back. I don’t trust your judgement at all.”

__

“Too late, you already gave me all your money. Can't afford to buy another army now.”

__

The prince sighed. “We’re doomed, then.”

__

“Yup,” agreed Ersa. “You just think about that while you try to get some sleep.”

__

Avad rolled his eyes as he stepped off the staircase into his bedroom. “Thank you, Ersa, that is a very _comforting_ thought.”

__

On the floor below, Ersa tugged the pull cord and the trap door began folding in on itself. “I’m paid to keep your ass _safe,_ not _comfortable._ ”

__

Avad grinned. “I know, captain. Thank you, and sleep well.”

__

He could hear her rolling her eyes. “Go to sleep!” she called as the trap door shut.

__

“Yes, captain,” Avad said quietly to the empty room, smiling. He stretched and started to undress, and laid his clothes out neatly for the next day.

__

The prince knew he really shouldn’t feel so relaxed. Thanks to Ersa he knew _he_ was safe, a fact that left him almost dizzy with relief. But between Dervahl and the Bladewife commander, he clearly still had his work cut out for him. Not to mention that he still didn’t know if enough of the Oseram would stay on with him to take Meridian. And then there was the small matter of his father and his kestrels, who were undoubtedly planning on coming to drag him and his honor guard back to Sunfall in chains and throw them in the Sun-Ring, just like--

__

The war was far from won, and the sacrifices would continue until it was. But Avad was no longer merely watching. He was the one in charge of the plan now, and he had all the information he’d need to see it through.

__

Starting tomorrow, he would have work to do.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erend is bae. Also I figure that the Liberation gave Erend one hell of an ego boost, so for now he's not quite as boastful as he is in the game. Similarly, Janeva is not quite the same man he is in-game yet either.
> 
> Comments of all kind are welcome! Keysmash, quote-fest, it doesn't matter--give me your love, I demand it. Also kudos FTW!


	13. Blood

Avad woke to the sound of a ringing bell. Thankfully, it soon stopped. When it rang again, he groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

… why did it smell like machine oil? And since when was his mattress so unevenly stuffed?

“Your Radiance?” said a voice, mercifully muffled by his mysteriously scented pillow.

Avad breathed deeply through his nose, trying to decipher the scent. Oil and sweat, but not fear-sweat like he was used to. This was cleaner, almost soothing.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him gently. “Your Radiance, the captain’s waiting.”

He curled in on himself and hugged the pillow closer to his face. There was something else there, what was it…?

“He up yet?”

… Leather.

“Just give him a minute.”

Why did his pillow smell like _leather?_

“Oh, for the love of--”

The blanket was yanked off him, the cold air shocking Avad’s skin. He rolled on reflex, chasing its warmth, and instantly ran out of mattress, landing on the cold wooden floor.

Which wasn’t right. Where were the carpets?

“Rise and shine, pretty boy,” said a voice from somewhere above him.

Avad opened his eyes to the sight of a pair of leather boots. He followed them up, past the leather paneled skirt, to Ersa’s face. What was she doing in his--?

He bolted upright. This _wasn’t_ his room, or--it was his room _now,_ but before last night it had been _Ersa’s_ room, and that was _her_ bed, which was why it _smelled like her_ \--

“Morning,” the prince said, a little too loudly. “It’s _morning._ ”

“Yeah it fuckin’ is,” Ersa said, and dropped his bundled up blanket on top of him. He clutched it to his chest, feeling exposed. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he was, thankfully, wearing a pair of oversized trousers he’d found in the wardrobe last night. He’d felt guilty about wearing someone else’s clothes when he was already living in their house without their invitation, but now he was grateful for his presumptuousness.

“You could treat your prince with a little more _decorum,_ ” said Commander Janeva through gritted teeth.

“He ain’t my prince, he’s my _patron,_ ” Ersa countered. “And he needs to get off his ass so we can _get going._ ”

“ _Right,_ ” Avad said, still staring straight ahead. “You said--something. About Helis. You have to show me something.”

“Yeah, our little surprise for the kestrels,” Ersa said. “Which is _top secret,_ which means we gotta be outta camp before the sun is up. I don’t think Carja spies ever got this far north, but the less people who know, the less people can tell; you know the fuckin’ drill. Now hurry up--your guards said your princely ass needs an hour to get ready, and you already slept through half that. Get dressed, grab your bow and your sword, and leave your damn crown. You can eat while we walk.”

With that, the captain of his Vanguard turned on her heel and left.

“I’m sorry, your Radiance,” Janeva said, helping him to his feet. “I didn’t think she’d _follow me up here._ ”

“It’s--it’s fine,” the prince said, shaking his head to clear it. “She’s the captain of my Vanguard, she can come and go as she pleases.”

“Do you really think that’s appropriate?”

“You’re already having me go through her _bedroom_ to _bathe,_ ” he pointed out, spreading the blanket on the bed. “What if she has urgent news?”

“She could tell _us,_ and we could come and get you.”

Avad shook his head. “I’m sorry Janeva, but no. I know from experience it’s not easy, but we’re still operating on a need-to-know basis. There’s no telling what her mood or the timing could give away to an observer, so the less time they _can_ observe her, the better. That was our philosophy back in the Sundom, and will remain our philosophy for the foreseeable future. Ersa wouldn’t put me somewhere with people she didn’t trust implicitly, but that’s no excuse to get lax on matters of security. You are not to delay her entry to my room, ever. Understood?”

The guards saluted. “Yes, your Radiance.”

Avad sighed. “I _am_ sorry,” he repeated. “I know you’re just trying to keep me safe, and she’s a stranger, particularly to _you._ But I trust her, both in her intent and ability, just as much as I do any of my honor guard.”

“I understand, your Radiance,” Janeva said, the very picture of a loyal, unquestioning soldier.

“But?” Avad prompted as he got dressed. The commander of his honor guard might have fooled his previous liege with that act, but not him.

Janeva looked annoyed at being called out _again._ He really should have learned by now. “I don’t doubt your judgement of the captain or her loyalty. _But._ She is impertinent with you, and in _public._ You joked last night about her being a disaster in court, but it’s not a joke. She needs to learn propriety, which means you need to stop excusing her lack of _basic manners._ ”

Avad raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think _she_ would consent to act like a proper Carja lady?”

“Of course not, a proper lady wouldn’t be _in_ your Vanguard, least of all in _command_ of it. Not to mention the fact that she just _barged into your bedroom._ But she _does_ need to learn proper deference for your position, or at least how to fake it in company.”

Avad rolled his eyes. “I think my position will whether the storm of even Ersa’s scorn, considering that we’re up against my father’s.”

“ _Your Radiance,_ ” Commander Janeva said seriously. The prince stopped and faced him, giving him his full attention. “You being shown the proper deference is not just about _you,_ it’s about all the Sun-Kings who will come after you. Not every member of the Radiant Line can sway crowds with a few words. Some Sun-Kings will _need_ that tradition of reverence in order to maintain their rule, especially since you’re shattering the idea that a Sun-King should be followed without question. You _need_ to be shown _respect._ ”

The prince sighed. Avad _knew_ he was not as charismatic as his father. He relied on logic to convince people, not his own presence or force of personality. Yesterday’s success with the nascent Vanguard was entirely Ersa’s, not his own. If he wanted to _keep_ the throne once he sat on it, he was going to have to _demand_ respect, eventually.

“I suppose you have a point, seeing how it is your duty to guard my honor,” he conceded. “ _However,_ right now I need to focus on building rapport with the Oseram, and not just Ersa’s freebooters. They’re unlikely to react very well if they think she’s bowing to the every whim of some Carja prince just because I’m a prince.”

“As the captain of your Vanguard, she _should._ ”

“As you said last night, they’re not yet _my_ Vanguard,” Avad reminded him. “And Ersa herself is nothing if not her own woman. She is my _ally,_ not my subject, and so I am neither asking nor expecting her deference. I promise you that I _will_ speak to her about the importance of such things amongst the Carja, but not just yet.”

Janeva bowed. “Of course, your Radiance.”

Avad resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he hung his brother’s sword from his belt.

\---

Twenty minutes later, he and one of his other guardsmen met Ersa in the kitchen on the first floor. Ersa raised an eyebrow at him.

“You put on your face-paint? Really?”

“You told me to get _dressed._ ”

She rolled her eyes, handed him his breakfast (a hollowed out loaf of bread stuffed with eggs and potatoes) and led them westwards. The camp was quiet, but not silent. Even ignoring the ceaseless banging of the drop hammers (how had he slept through _that?_ ), there were still a few people about. Troops on patrol or on guard duty mostly, but also a few early risers getting a head start on their days as well.

Avad shivered as he watched them, pulling his cloak tighter. It had snowed during the night, a full inch at least, but none of the Oseram wore anything warmer than a long-sleeved shirt.

The troops they passed either ignored them in favor of their own activities, or paused to bang their fists to their chests in salute to Ersa, which she returned with a nod. It took a few times for Avad to realize why the interactions felt strange-- _no one_ was paying him any attention. He wore the same clothes as yesterday, but his face was obscured by his hood and his scarf, and his cross-armor and sword were hidden by his cloak. Next to him, his guard still wore a mix of Carja and Oseram armor. They could have been anyone--a smuggler and his muscle, a messenger and his bodyguard. But whoever they might have been, they weren’t worth a second glance when in the company of Captain Ersa Vangardsman.

Despite the cold and the snow, the prince felt himself relax. It was a strange relief, being ignored.

They left the camp behind and followed a path around and up a mountain, giving the machine-herds a wide berth. The trail evened out just as a ruin of ancient masonry came into view in the distance.

“You sleep okay?” Ersa asked suddenly.

“I did, yes,” Avad said. “I suppose I got used to the sound of the drop hammers on the way here.”

“I meant, was a nightmare keepin’ you asleep? It ain’t like you to wake up groggy.”

Avad was surprised she remembered--two years ago she had only occasionally spent the night in his chambers, first at Ka--first at another’s request, and later her own. She would sometimes get fed up with her situation and demand to have two good meals in a row, and dinner followed by breakfast was the simplest way to do that, and also helped keep up their ruse. Ersa had always asked for the bed for herself, despite complaining that it was too soft. Since Avad hadn’t wanted to lock her in his bedroom, she had often seen himself snap awake, or heard him choking in his sleep and woke him up herself.

“I think I was just tired from being on the road,” Avad said.

“You wanna wake-up call or somethin’?” she offered. “Me or one of your guards can get you. I don’t want you stuck in a fuckin’ nightmare again.”

Avad shook his head. “I wasn’t dreaming, I just slept really well. I’m also not used to the bell yet. I’ll learn to wake up to it in time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I wanna be sure your ass ain’t chokin’ to death on a dream every mornin’.”

“I... could ring the servant’s bell when I get up? It’s across the room from the bed, so if it rings you'd know I'm awake.”

Ersa nodded. “You do that.”

He smiled behind his scarf. Ersa was demanding, impertinent, vulgar, and one of the kindest people Avad had ever met. Not even in spite of those things, but _because_ of them--she wasn’t about to let something as petty as decorum stop her from making sure her friend was taken care of. “Yes, captain.”

The Sun crested over the horizon as they approached the crumbling ruins, revealing a squat Oseram dome nestled in a corner of the brickwork. Protruding from one side of the dome was a small forge, with a circle of workbenches next to it, under a canopy. The heat of the forge had melted away the snow in a wide circle.

Petra waved them over from where she sat at one of the benches. She was surrounded by bowls of various scrap and was doing… something arcane with them, fitting them together like puzzle pieces into tiny spheres that could fit into the palm of her hand.

“Mornin’, boss,” Petra greeted, twisting a sphere closed and placing it in a bucket filled with more.

“Good morning,” Avad greeted, peering into the bowls. They were full of wires and wafers and tiny canisters of what might be blaze.

“Don’t touch anything,” Petra warned, using a heated needle to solder some scrap together.

“I’m operating under the assumption that everything here can explode,” the prince said.

“Good assumption.” Petra glanced up at Ersa. “ _Thank you_ for not selling out for a complete dumbass.”

“I held out for a half dumbass, just for my little wife,” Ersa said and made an exaggerated kissy face at her.

Petra fluttered her eyelashes at her. “Don’t you wanna be _my_ little Vanguardswife?”

“I take my steel a little warmer than _yours,_ grandma.”

“With a tongue like that you’ll _make_ it warm.”

Avad looked between them. “Is this the secret weapon? You plan to flirt in front of Helis and hope he dies in a fit of apoplexy?”

“Aw, are you jealous, boss?” Petra teased.

“Exceedingly so,” he said dryly. “I’m just uncertain which of you I’m jealous _of._ ”

Petra laughed and dropped another sphere into the bucket with the others. She held out her hand. “Lemme see your sword.”

Ersa’s eyebrows shot up. “Ersa Forgewoman, askin’ to handle a man’s sword. And here’s me thinkin’ I’d never see the day.”

“I can make an exception for _magic_ swords.”

“It’s not _magic,_ ” Avad said, laying his hand protectively on the hilt. “But it is _extremely_ sharp. And an irreplaceable heirloom of the Sundom. _And_ one of the few pieces of royal regalia I have with me that prove my identity.”

“I’m not gonna _do_ anything to it,” Petra assured him. “I just wanna have a look. Your ancestors killed a Metal Devil with it, right?”

Avad drew the sword and gingerly handed it over, hilt first. “No, the Old Ones did. The sixth Sun-King Iriv found it embedded in the heart of a Metal Devil on his first attempt to break through past the Daunt. He gifted it to his brother, Basadid, who ascended the throne after Iriv and his cohort were swallowed by the West. It’s been worn by Sun-Kings and those who fight in their name ever since.”

“This ain’t the same sword you had before?” Ersa asked, watching Petra test the blade’s balance.

“No, that was just a copy, forged with modern methods. _This_ blade will cut through anything, and never needs to be sharpened.”

Petra’s eyebrows shot up. “Cuts through anything, eh?”

Avad nodded. “With enough pressure, yes. Be _very_ careful if you’re going to test the edge, if you cut yourself you’ll bleed for hours, if not days.”

“Did you poison it?” Ersa asked skeptically.

“No, it’s just that sharp.”

Petra made an impressed noise as she inspected the sword’s grip. She placed an ingot of metal on the workbench, set the edge of the blade on it, and pressed down. The sword cut halfway through it before stopping. The smithy braced her hands on the dull side of the blade and leaned her weight onto it, and the ingot split neatly in half. The sword left a long gouge in the workbench’s surface.

“Huh,” Petra said. She held the sword up to her face for a closer inspection, and then she... _licked the blade._

Avad turned to Ersa in silent panic, eyes wide with shock.

“Careful there, Petra,” she said with a smirk. “I think that’s the first time his sword’s been licked. Could get messy.”

The smithy ignored her, considering the taste. “I _think_ there’s titanium in this alloy, but I wouldn’t set that on my anvil. No steel in it, though.” She offered the sword hilt-first to the prince. “It’ll definitely kill a Sun-King.”

“That... is the plan, yes,” Avad said distantly, taking it. He considered wiping it clean with his handkerchief, but he didn’t want to be rude.

The door to the dome banged open, making him start, and a lanky young man emerged, lugging a large metal device of some sort. He kicked the door closed behind him and stopped short when he spotted them, blinking owlishly.

Petra waved at him. “Bring that over to the test site, we’ll be by in a minute.”

The young man nodded hesitantly and walked off, struggling to keep to a straight line through the snow as he kept turning his head to stare at them.

“Who is that?” Avad asked, sheathing the blade without looking. He hadn’t carried the sword long, but he had been taught to handle his previous blade as though it was as sharp as this one from the very beginning.

“Erend’s newest replacement,” Petra said.

He blinked at the retreating young man’s skinny frame, then looked at Ersa questionably.

Ersa shook her head. “It’s an old joke. He’s Dervahl’s newest apprentice. Erend was for a bit when we were younger, but uh… he ain’t, now.”

“Two weeks,” Petra said, picking up the bucket of spheres and dropping a trowel into it. “Erend was his apprentice for _two weeks,_ and Dervahl’s _still_ spitting fire about the mess he made.”

“My little brother’s better at breakin’ shit than makin’ it,” Ersa said with a shrug, leading them in the same direction the young man had gone. “Maybe a little _too_ good, seein’ as how most of his kills just got melted down.”

“He became a machine-hunter like you?” Avad guessed, following her with Petra. “He said that’s what you did before the Red Raids.”

“Yep, helpin’ Dervahl out by gettin’ machine parts, same way I started. I was after bandits and Raiders by the time Erend could even _lift_ a warhammer, so he was on his own with that for a while. Then when I got my freebooters together his dumb ass tagged along and, well, you know the rest.”

“You didn’t want him in the war,” Avad said. It wasn’t a question.

“Of course not, he’s my _little brother,_ ” Ersa said, then shrugged. “Machine-huntin’ ain’t exactly a _safe_ job, but at least if a Sawtooth kills you it ain’t personal. But then the fuckin’ Stacker of Corpses ran Dervahl out of his home, so Erend would’ve wound up in the thick of it no matter what. Probably would’ve been nabbed with me if he stayed with Dervahl, and I don’t think you coulda convinced your dad to spare _him,_ too. So I guess it’s worked out okay--at least I can keep an eye on him, if he’s in the shit _with_ me.”

Avad walked beside her silently, lost in thought. He knew that all the tribes were counting on him to end the Red Raids, even if none of them knew they were just yet. But it was quite another thing to have _Ersa_ of all people relying on him to keep her little brother safe. They’d been careful to talk about when, not if, they took Meridian and killed his father. After all, wars were won with morale as much as they were with might, especially a civil war, which was what this was, despite the foreign freebooters. But there was no guarantee that they’d even _get_ to Meridian at this point, if they couldn't convince enough of the freebooters to join them.

Behind them the workshop door opened again. Avad glanced back to see Dervahl emerge, squinting angrily into the morning Sun like it personally offended him. The prince turned away, guilt gnawing at his chest. Even if he took the throne without even one more drop of blood spilled, it would be too late to save _his_ family, amongst countless others.

Avad had tried _so hard_ to keep the full scope of his father’s atrocities at the forefront of his mind, but he had failed _spectacularly._ So much for having the Sun’s own sight.

The prince was snapped out of his reverie by Ersa, when she slung her arm about his and Petra’s shoulders and pulled them in close. Petra made a teasing _“ooo”_ sound, which Ersa elected to ignore.

“Step it up, Dervahl,” she called over her shoulder, hurrying them along. “Time to get to work.”

“I was _doing_ work,” he called back.

“Well then _stop_ workin’ and come show off your latest toy.” Despite her bantering, she did not slow her pace. “Your boy’s makin’ you look bad.”

Dervahl snorted, gaining on them. “Not as bad as your _brother_ did.”

“It was one workshop, let it go,” Ersa said. “I got you a new one and everything.”

“And everything _inside_ the workshop?”

“It was _ten years ago,_ and you’ve tinkered better shit since then. Like this!”

They’d reached the top of an incline, where the lanky young apprentice and the device sat waiting. Farther down there were a couple of dead boars hanging on the outer wall of a miniature Oseram dome house.

“Are you going to tell me what it is now?” Avad asked, fixing his cloak. His discomfort around Dervahl must have been more obvious than he realized, to have Ersa come to his rescue like she had. He was grateful to her for preventing an awkward moment; if Dervahl was going to lead a full third of the army marching on Meridian, they should at least be on polite terms. The gut-wrenching shame that must have been on his face would _not_ help with that.

Ersa grinned. “Nope, you gotta guess.”

Avad frowned at the device. “Well, if I didn’t know it was meant for war, I’d say it was a needlessly complicated water pitcher.”

Petra barked a laugh. “I don’t think you want to drink what this girl’s gonna pour out.”

“I’ve no doubt,” the prince agreed, glancing at the bucket of spheres she carried. “A mechanical sling?”

“Close enough!” Ersa said brightly. She grinned at Dervahl as he approached. “Wanna introduce her?”

“She’s a cannon,” he said gruffly. It was rather anticlimactic.

“Like a Ravager cannon?” Avad asked, keeping his eyes on the device. It was easier to not dwell on uncomfortable truths when he wasn’t looking at him.

“Except she’s an _Oseram_ cannon,” Petra said. “She spits metal and fire instead of light.”

“... how exactly is that different from a mechanical sling?”

Ersa rolled her eyes. “Lemme show you.” She hoisted the cannon with surprising ease and planted her feet, aiming at the dome down below. “Load her up, Petra.”

Petra used the trowel to scoop a half a shovel full of spheres into the opening at the back of the cannon, then stepped back. Ersa pulled some sort of trigger on the device, and the spheres rattled around inside the cannon for a moment before being launched from the opening in the front, arcing down towards the setup below. Most of them fell short, flinging snow and earth when they exploded on impact, but a few clipped the boar carcasses, making a mess. Avad flinched at the noise. Now he understood why there was an entire mountain between this site and the rest of the army.

“I got the range now,” Ersa said. “Gimme a full shot.”

Petra poured two full scoops in. The rattling was louder this time, and when Ersa fired, she hit the boars and the sturdy little dome of stone dead on.

And utterly destroyed them.

The first salvo had been loud--the second was thunderous. The boars and the dome had all but disintegrated under the hail of those deadly little spheres.

Behind his scarf, Avad’s mouth dropped open.

“Surprise!” Ersa said cheerfully.

The prince stared at the destruction in shock. “What… what did you…?”

Ersa set the cannon back down on the ground with an ominous _thunk._ “Wanna take a closer look?”

“... I think I _need_ to,” Avad said distantly. Ersa laughed and led him down the slope, skirting around the lane of fire to avoid any spheres that hadn’t detonated right away.

It did not get better as they approached. Avad couldn’t even _see_ the remains of the boar carcasses, but he could smell the blood. The dome was destroyed down to its foundation, with only half a ring of stones marking where it once stood. The rest of the stones were scattered in a fan behind it, many of them cracked or simply pulverized into shards by the force of the blast.

“She’s got a powerful set of lungs, eh?” Petra said proudly.

“You made… _this,_ ” Avad said, wide-eyed.

“Oh no, you won’t see _my_ face in her,” Petra said. “This is all Dervahl’s design, you’ll only see the marks from my hands.”

“He made _this_ to kill one man?” Avad asked incredulously. Dervahl and his apprentice were still up the hill, checking over the cannon after its test fire.

“Nope, but it’ll get the fuckin’ job done,” Ersa said with a fierce grin. “I’ve seen that asshole shrug off a bomb, but I’d like to see him try that with _this._ ”

“We need to melt down that gun,” Avad said weakly.

Ersa snapped her head in his direction, sending her braids swinging. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“We can’t _use_ it, _look_ at this!” He gestured wildly to the debris field that was once a building, voice rising. “This could _raze Meridian_ to the _ground!_ ”

“Not if you _aim_ it right,” she protested.

“We are trying to _take_ the city, not _level it!_ ” The prince strung his hands through his hair. “Why did you even _make_ this?”

“To kill kestrels,” Petra said. “That’s what Dervahl was aiming for when he started her design.”

“You don’t need _this_ much power to kill _men!_ ”

“You do when they’re in forts,” Ersa pointed out.

“The power’s in her voice, not her throat,” Petra said. “And once we figured how loud her voice _could_ get, we were thinking that we could have her say her piece in Sunfall, shout down the Sun-Ring’s walls.”

“You were already planning to go on the offensive?” Avad asked.

“Yep,” Ersa said. “We were thinkin’ of startin’ late next year at the soonest, if we could get enough of the Banuk’s weraks in on it. But since _you’re_ here, the timetable’s moved up. Can’t keep your ass a secret, your dad’ll hear about you bein' here before long. Better if we move quick, use as much shock and awe as we can salvage. And since we’re just after the one city we can get this done and over with before summer.”

“But we can’t use _this,_ ” Avad said desperately. “We _can not._ If I damage Holy Meridian, that’s sacrilege, _real_ sacrilege. The Carja would turn to my _father_ to protect them from _me._ We _have_ to destroy that gun.”

“There’s more than just the one, you know,” Petra said. “We’re building up our stockpile.”

“ _Wonderful,_ ” Avad said, and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was a _disaster._ He needed time to think.

“Look,” Ersa cut in. “I spat and swore that we’re gonna do this _your_ way, so we will. If you don’t wanna use her at Meridian, we won’t use her.”

“You said these were _Dervahl’s_ guns,” Avad said, dropping his hand. “Which means they’re the _regulars’_ guns to command, not mine. Erend said they answer to you, but the Ealdormen could change that at any moment.”

Ersa shook her head. “Dervahl’s got the patent, but _we_ own the cannons.”

“What do you mean, Dervahl has the patent? What is a _patent?_ ”

“It means they’re his guns,” Petra said.

“But she _just said--_ ”

Ersa cut him off with her hand. “It means he owns the _design,_ but not the actual cannons. We both figured it was better for security to not let the Ealdormen in on ‘em. They’re freebooter guns. _Vanguard_ guns, now.”

“That’s--that’s good,” Avad admitted, not really understanding how one could own something as ephemeral as a design. He looked over the debris field, wondering how much carnage from previous tests was hiding under the snow. “But we still can’t use them, even on forts on the way there. If the Carja even _think_ that I’d unleash _this_ on the City of the Sun…”

“I told you, the power is in her _voice,_ ” Petra said. “We can hush her up some, make her quiet enough to shake the walls instead of knock them down.”

Avad frowned. “You said you already have a stockpile.”

“Of the _guns,_ not the ammunition,” Ersa explained. “The gun just launches shit, it’s the ammo that decides how hard it hits.”

“That’s what I just _said,_ ” Petra complained.

Avad blinked. “The throat and the voice.”

Ersa rolled her eyes at the both of them. “Yep. We ain’t quite decided on the ammunition yet, but we gotta start soon. We’re gonna need a _lot._ ”

“I can tweak one of the early batches,” Petra said thoughtfully. “We’ve got improved detonators now, there’d be less duds. _And_ it’ll be easier to source the parts than _this_ batch.”

“And 'quieter' as well, I presume?” Avad asked.

Petra nodded. “Absolutely. The early batches were mostly there to test how far she could throw her voice, but she could always shout loud enough to kill a man.”

“Including Helis,” Ersa said meaningfully.

Avad rubbed his face. “I still can’t believe you wanted to use _that_ just to kill Helis. The man’s a _nightmare,_ but he’s still just a man.”

Ersa grinned. “I was thinkin’ that the shock and awe of watchin’ his ass explode would make the rest of his kestrels evacuate the city, or at least their bowels.”

“ _Ugh,_ ” Avad said, disgusted.

“So you still wanna melt her for scrap?” Petra asked.

Avad stared hard at the debris. “I _want_ to, but I won’t. Show me what this early batch can do to stone walls and we’ll see.”

“ _Good,_ ” Ersa said vehemently. “I was _not_ lookin’ forward to tellin’ Dervahl we were gonna smother his baby girl in her crib.”

Avad winced at her phrasing, remembering a little girl’s dying scream for her mother.

Ersa and Petra turned to go, but Avad didn’t move, still looking over the carnage.

“You comin’?” Ersa asked.

“Shock and awe,” Avad murmured.

“What?”

He turned to face her. “Shock and awe. Even with less power, no Carja would ever suspect such a weapon could exist. The range alone is _unheard_ of. You could scavenge something like this from the Old Ones, maybe, but no tribe still living could make this, and certainly not in enough numbers to make a difference in a war.”

“Yeah, that’s why we’ve been hidin’ it so hard,” Ersa said. “Whatcha thinkin'?”

“I want to surprise them with it, like you did me,” Avad said.

“That’s the general idea.”

“I want to not fire them _at all_ until we reach Meridian.”

Ersa raised her eyebrows. “That is a tall fuckin’ order, considerin’ how early the Carja boys can start marchin’ come spring.”

“I’m aware of that,” said Avad. “I won’t throw away the campaign for it, but… the sheer surprise of this will make up for its lack of firepower, not that the Carja will know the difference. Taking Meridian is as much of an act of diplomacy as it is an act of war. I need to use _everything_ I can to convince the Carja that I’ve been chosen by the Sun. I know it’s far too early to decide, but the longer we can hold off using the cannons, the better.”

“Can we still use her to blow Helis to smithereens?” Ersa asked hopefully. “It’ll make Dervahl feel better.”

The prince pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to have to learn how to fire that thing, aren’t I? Since he’ll be standing next to my father.”

“After you learn how to _lift_ her, yeah.”

“Well... assuming that I approve of the ammunition, and that _no one_ fires it inside the city without my _personal_ authorization…” He sighed. “It’s the safest way to kill that nightmare, so yes, I suppose.”

Ersa clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to see you’re bein’ reasonable.”

Avad shrugged. “Yesterday you said I was the most reasonable man you know. I didn’t want to disappoint my captain.”

“Don’t worry, pretty boy,” Ersa said, rolling her eyes. “You’re gonna have to try harder than _that_ to disappoint me.”

\---

The rest of the day was a whirlwind.

Ersa took pity on the shivering prince and took him to the freebooter’s tailor first. Remembering Janeva’s lecture from that morning, he allowed them to take measurements instead of just taking some ready-made clothes off the rack. He did insist on buying a thick knitted shirt with a high collar that Ersa called a “sweater” so he could wear it the rest of the day, and a cloak for his honor guard. He reminded himself to ask one of them to check what the cost was later, as he was fairly certain that Ersa was putting his clothes on her account.

Most of the day was spent on a walking tour of the camp. Ersa showed him why the tent walls were so thick--there were multiple layers with gaps of air in between, and apparently the air was just as important as the fabric for keeping the heat in. Compared to the Carja they must have used at least three times the amount of fabric per tent, but they had mechanical looms to keep up with production. Some of the tents also hand a contraption that the soldiers could plug blaze canisters into in order to produce steady heat. They were still being distributed, as they wouldn’t be needed until winter was properly upon them.

Given the morning’s weather, Avad was _not_ looking forward to what the Oseram called winter, if this wasn’t it.

Ersa took Avad on what he suspected were her usual rounds, though he doubted she usually did so many in a single day. She spoke mostly with her officers, giving short introductions before asking for their reports, and inviting Avad to ask questions after. The military talk was mostly arcane to the prince, so he stuck to asking personal but polite questions to avoid embarrassing himself.

He was only partially successful at that--questions about homes and families lead to learning that they were lost in the Red Raids as often as they didn’t. The same thing happened when he asked after their previous professions. Apologies would have been hollow or meaningless, so he stuck with reiterating his promise that they would not only be stopping them, but ensuring that they never happened again. Surprisingly, most of them believed him. Even more surprising was that their faith in his words didn’t make him cry.

Asking about their plans after the war was a much safer topic. He could tell many of them had yet to consider that there could _be_ an after, but the look of surprised hope on their faces when they did was gratifying, even if they couldn’t come up with an answer. When asked if they were considering settling in the Sundom, opinions were widely split. Some were adamantly against it, some were adamantly for it (these all agreed with Avad about the cold, and also agreed that Ersa should promote them on the basis of having good sense, a suggestion she heartlessly shot down), but the majority were undecided. Of those, some had yet to properly think about it, some had to consult their families, and some simply didn’t care.

After eating lunch in the common mess with the troops, Ersa walked him briefly through the regular’s camp to the northeast. Their equipment was older, but Oseram sturdiness meant that age wasn’t as much of a detriment as it would be with Carja equipment, according to Ersa. These men--and they were _all_ men here, save a few tradeswomen attached to their husbands--were not as automatically deferential to Ersa as the freebooters, which was to be expected, as they weren’t hers. A few were outright hostile to her, though Avad suspected that _his_ presence was at least somewhat to blame for that.

Ersa seemed beyond used to their attitude. When one of them decided to make his unsavory opinions known, she simply stood tall, placed her hands on her hips, and stared at him until he looked away. Avad made a mental note to remember that trick for when he was dealing with unruly nobles.

The regular’s camp was around half the size of the freebooters', but Ersa only took him to meet a few seemingly random officers before taking him out again. Avad deduced why on their way out--he’d met all or most of their key officers, and the others were either the most hostile or most friendly to Ersa and her freebooters. The prince wondered what she was hoping for more--to relax the tension between the armies, or encourage the good ones to sign on with hers.

As the afternoon wore on, Ersa led him through another leg of camp to the manor to let his honor guard change shifts, making more introductions on the way. Commander Janeva joined him, and the trio returned to the common mess tent so that Avad could help prepare the troops’ dinner. Noticing Janeva’s subtle aura of annoyance as he was taught how to peel potatoes, Avad asked Ersa about her decision behind having her officers serve in the mess.

Apparently it was an old Oseram military tradition, not her own invention. The Oseram were stubbornly independent, to the point where discipline and troop cohesion were usually a problem. To help ensure that the soldiers respected their commanding officers (“commanding” only, never “superior”), they would serve in the mess and let the troops rail at them about the quality of the food. And because they were Oseram, it worked. It was grudgingly accepted that an officer couldn’t _always_ get away from their duties to serve in the mess on a regular schedule, but if one missed too many shifts they were likely to have a very hard time getting _any_ work done.

Of course, Ersa’s use of Carja ranks did change things a bit. For one there were _more_ officers, and the chain of command meant that some officers were in direct command of only _other_ officers. The troops were still figuring out what that meant, but for now every officer was given an equal number of shifts by default, with the troops able to “win” their officers more shifts by performing well in drills. Ersa herself was usually too busy to take regular shifts, so she had opted to take the occasional latrine duty instead. Any freebooter foolish enough to complain about her absence in the mess hall was promptly invited to join her.

Avad decided to not even joke about it. He both wanted and _needed_ to ingratiate himself with the Oseram as a whole and Ersa's freebooters in particular, but he had his limits.

Next Avad was whisked away to the kitchen proper to cut the potatoes. Instead of having to learn how to cut them into even pieces with a knife, the Oseram had invented a handy little device that did most of the work for him. It was a simple frame with a grid of blades fitted into it attached to a lever, and the chore would have been mind-numbingly boring if Ersa wasn’t there heckling him. Like in the officer’s mess before, this was a partly calculated move to help the troops (or just the kitchen staff) relax around him and see him as something other than some uppity foreign prince. It was also helping Avad relax, since coming up with witty replies left him little time to worry about doing a poor job, as it wasn’t often that he’d been called on to _do_ something, least of all something that produced tangible results that could be objectively judged.

Of course, the only thing that would help poor Janeva relax would be if his prince was not surrounded by foreigners armed with knives and cooking fires in a kitchen that was too small to let him stand next to said prince. But at least he wasn’t scowling, and seemed to be leaving his immediate security in Ersa’s hands while he scanned the rest of the kitchen staff for potential threats.

When the troops started coming in for their dinner, Ersa had Avad scarf down a bowl of soup for himself before sending him back in the kitchen to serve the troops directly. He got more than a few surprised looks--he was probably the freeboters’s first _patron_ to serve a shift in the mess, given that they were usually hired by Ealdormen who were busy running their government, on top of being, well, _him._ Once word spread down the line of hungry soldiers that yes, the Carja prince really _was_ serving a shift in the mess, the real challenge began.

This morning he had thought Ersa was vulgar, but he was wrong-- _nothing_ compared to the depravity of soldiers who found themselves with the opportunity to mess with an actual prince who’d been raised in an actual palace with actual etiquette tutors, especially when they were guaranteed to not face any consequences for their impertinence. The rush of soldiers meant that they could only manage a brief quip before hurrying along, but they made brutally efficient use of their time. The worst were the ones that sounded innocent at first-- _those_ usually had at least five layers of filthy subtext, and left him blushing and speechless for a good minute after he parsed their real meaning.

Ersa, who had placed herself to one side of the serving line to keep an eye on him, seemed to take great pleasure in watching him blush.

(If he’d bothered to check, Avad would have seen Janeva, who had _been_ a soldier, had very quickly given up any hope for his prince receiving _any_ respect tonight.)

Avad wasn’t given many opportunities to fire back, but when he did he tried to make it count.

“What are you even doing back there?” one soldier asked, clearly talking about the food.

Avad smiled as he served the man his dinner. “ Just disappointing my father.”

Everyone in earshot burst out laughing at that one. Ersa had to lean on the counter to keep standing. It left him feeling rather smug.

Avad rode that high through the rest of his shift all the way back to his room at the manor. He was going to be sore tomorrow from all the walking, but it would be worth it. He’d had a productive day today, meeting the troops face-to-face and proving that he wasn’t some stuck-up high-blood. Yesterday he would have been shocked if a quarter of them would have agreed to accompany him to Meridian, but after today he had hope for at _least_ that many. They were one step closer to being not only _Ersa’s_ freebooters, but _his_ Vanguard, as well.

He rubbed his cheek and winced at the stubble--he hadn’t had time to shave this morning, and he hadn’t thought to grab his razor when he used the water closet after dinner. Thankfully his beard grew in rather slowly, but at this point he must look positively scruffy. Avad pulled out his shaving and his face-paint kits, using the foggy looking-glass in the latter to guide his hands. He supposed he could wait until morning, but he owed it to Janeva to come downstairs with a clean face tomorrow, after the indignities he’d suffered in the mess.

He flinched as the razor nicked his skin, bringing his hand to the wound. When he pulled his fingers away, there was blood. Just a drop, sitting there on his fingertip, red as a Sun-Priests robes in the noonday Sun. When they sang the songs to bless the killings, when his big brother was dropped from the cage, when all that was left of him was a smear of red blood on the sand--

Avad’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit about the sword was inspired by something I read on the HZD TVTropes page. On the character page, it’s mentioned that Avad’s sword looks like it would not have been out of place in the Old World. Getting a good look at the sword for myself was a bitch--check out the cutscene at the start of The Face of Extinction. When Avad says “By the Sun, do as she says!” you can pause it to get a good look. I figure it could have been a ceremonial thing for dress uniforms (I’ve seen modern recruiting ads with marines in dress whites holding sabers), probably given to one of the generals since all the lower ranked personnel were replaced by robots.
> 
> I hope my foray into semi-historical-military-fiction-with-a-dash-of-scifi was okay. If you’d like to see another story in this genre, I’d like to recommend the Safehold series by David Weber, which is currently ten books long and counting. I’m depending on my vague memory of that series for stuff like this, because he is way more dedicated to research than me. You may also notice that I never give exact numbers for troop counts and travel time, because oh my god NO. I can’t even use historical travel times for armies anyway because there are no beasts of burden in Horizon. Everybody walks everywhere--even if you take a cart it’s pulled by people--so there’s literally no way to get an accurate point of reference for it. I’m aiming for vague instead of accurate.
> 
> I’m also taking some inspiration from Prince Cayleb from that series--he was of a similar age to Avad when he became King, and did way more world-shaking, wide-reaching stuff than our boy is gonna do. So while Cayleb is obviously also fictional, his actions are all totally believable despite his age in that story, and I’m operating on an “If Cayleb can do XYZ starting in his early 20s, Avad can do X at the same age” basis when it comes to his age verses accomplishments. Apparently in canon Avad is right around 30 when Aloy shows up, which would mean that he was about 20 when the Red Raids started. I just can’t buy that Avad would sit by and not even argue with Jiran about the sacrifices (Kadaman was killed for doing so, so clearly neither of them spoke up before that) if he was an adult when they started. So even if I had known what his canonical age was beforehand, no way would I have stuck with it.
> 
> Plus neither of them were married, and if Avad was 30 then Kadaman was obviously older than that, and since they have a responsibility to carry on the royal bloodline… yeah, no. The crown prince waiting until after 30 to find a wife and have kids, especially in a world where he’s not going to marry for international alliances (no neighboring tribe has bloodline-based hierarchy) which means he’s not waiting for a juicy opportunity like that to crop up and just has to pick from local Carja nobles, is just irresponsible. And neither he nor Avad are irresponsible princes. And this way, Avad has a traumatic childhood that I can play with! Yay!
> 
> Give me kudos and comments to prove that you love me you cowards. *shakes fist*


	14. Reflection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, how many times is my fanon for this fic gonna get messed with by the comic? For anyone unaware, there’s an ongoing comic series that takes place between HZD and HFW (not to be confused with HZDTFW): the first issue is available for free download, and you can go watch Random Side Quest on Youtube for summaries on each issue as they come out (he also has a lot of HZD lore videos up on his channel).
> 
> Anyway, so far the comics have 1) shown Avad wearing a SHIRT, 2) threatened my post-game fic ideas just by existing (mostly I had assumed that Telanah was going to stay in the Sundom, but she might be a playable character in HFW), 3) nixed the idea that the Utaru are totally pacifist, and 4) shown that the Carja were also at war with the Tenakth in the Forbidden West during the Red Raids, a fact that was conspicuously left out in the game. Not only that, but as of issue 3 it looks like the Tenakth were pretty successful at repelling the Carja, which fucks with my whole line about Ersa leading the best defense against the Raids.
> 
> Currently my justification is that the war with the Tenakth was a separate war--it happened during the Red Raids, but the purpose was to conquer and invade, not gather blood sacrifices, and therefore is not officially seen as part of the Raids. It’s common for people to conflate the two--they were both unprovoked conflicts under Jiran’s reign--but that’s a misconception.
> 
> I suppose it doesn’t really matter, and it’s likely that HFW will introduce something to make my fic less than canon compliant anyway, but still. I like the idea of this fic fitting neatly into canon, dammit.
> 
> On the bright side, since the comic shows that the Sundom had a lot of recent interaction with the Tenakth, there’s a decent chance that we might see Avad, or at least hear him mentioned. Like, the trailers show a tribe overriding machines, so maybe it’s the Tenakth gearing up to invade the Carja, and we can go save our boy again!

The next morning, Avad lightly rapped on the door of Ersa’s rooms, travel bag in hand. After a minute of silence, he decided she must still be asleep. Just as he turned to go wait in his room and try again later, the door opened.

“What,” she asked flatly.

“My apolo--um.” Avad blinked. Ersa’s dark hair was loose, hanging to her waist in rippling waves from her usual braids. She wore a loose, sleeveless shirt that left her muscular arms bare.

She smirked at him. “Nice beard.”

Avad gave her a withering look. He’d only gotten halfway done shaving before he--had to stop. He held up his travel bag. “I need a better looking-glass than the one in my face-paint case.”

Ersa rolled her eyes and let him in, shutting the door behind him. He glanced back at it.

“Would you prefer to leave that open?” he asked.

“If I did, I woulda,” Ersa said, sitting down on her cot. There was just enough space between it and the counter on the opposite wall for someone to walk by. “I don’t like havin’ an open door at my back.”

“Of course.” Avad skirted around her to stand in front of the ancient, cracked looking-glass. He could see her in its eerily perfect reflection as she combed her fingers through her hair.

She noticed him watching and raised an eyebrow. “Yup, it’s hair.”

“Um,” said Avad, who had been staring at her hair to avoid staring at her _arms._ He looked her reflection in the eye. “My apologies, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You didn’t, I just wasn’t dressed yet.”

“Oh, um. Good.” He looked away from her and opened his bag, taking out his shaving kit.

“You sleep okay?” Ersa asked.

“Yes,” said the prince. “No dreams.” Once he’d picked himself up off the floor, he slept as well as he had the first night.

She nodded. “Good.”

On the wall next to looking-glass hung a leather strop, and Avad used it to sharpen his razor until he was certain it could _split_ hairs, not just shear them. He was liberal with his lotion, and took his time shaving. He desperately did _not_ want to repeat… whatever that was, last night. He had borne witness to the Sun-Ring without issue--without _this_ issue--for six _years._ Less than a week ago he had helped Huadiv with his injury, getting his blood on his hands as he tied a tourniquet around his leg.

What was one drop of his _own_ blood, compared to all that?

Once he was certain his beard was in order, he scrubbed his face clean in the basin on the counter and added water to his face-paint kit. Avad picked one of the thicker brushes and mixed the water into the red pigment. It looked exactly like blood, but it didn’t affect him at all.

Behind him, Ersa started on her second braid. She watched his reflection as he leaned in close to the looking-glass, brush in hand.

“Does that mean somethin’?” she asked.

“Hm?” Avad asked, carefully painting under one eye.

“Your face-paint. Does it mean anythin’ special? Like, is it just for nobility or somethin’?”

“Oh, no,” Avad said, painting under his other eye. “Nothing like that, it’s just that it’s expensive.” Satisfied that it was even, he rinsed out the brush and pulled out a tiny hand fan to dry the red layer. “But unless you get the very good kind, you might sweat it off. So it’s definitely a sign of both wealth _and_ status, if you can wear it all day and not have it run.”

“What about the pattern?” Ersa asked, already done with her second braid. “Is _that_ special?”

“No,” he said, mixing the black paint with a thin brush as he fanned his face. “Although by now this is _my_ pattern, so you won’t find other people wearing it. It’s... _awkward_ if you’re caught wearing the same pattern as someone else, unless you’re matching on purpose. But since I’m a prince, people know how I paint my face, so they avoid copying it.” He put down the fan and leaned in close to the looking glass again, carefully pulling two lines of black paint from the corner of one eye. “Though I suppose… at the moment… they avoid it because I’m a traitor.”

“So it’s not religious or anythin’?”

“No,” said Avad, switching to his other eye. “Well, these lines are called rays, like the Sun’s rays, but… that’s just… aesthetics, nothing to do with worship.” He checked the lines and found them to be a little too long on his left side, so he grabbed the tiny washcloth from his kit and delicately wiped the edges off.

“So why’re you still paintin’ your face every mornin’ then?” Ersa asked, pulling her legs up onto the cot and leaning back against the wall. “You ain't exactly in the Sundom anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow at her reflection. “I didn’t on the way up here, but now it’s a bit too late to convince anyone I’m not Carja.”

She shrugged. “It just seems like a waste of time in the middle of an army camp, is all.”

“Hardly,” he said, and paused to draw circles at the end of each ray with a thin wooden stylus. “Having a well-painted face is the sign of a good commander.”

Ersa looked _highly_ skeptical. “How do you figure that?”

“If you have time to paint your face, you’re not worried about not _having_ time,” Avad explained, fanning the black paint dry. “If your lines are neat, it means your hands aren’t shaking. Everyone looks at the commander to gauge the state of the war. If he--or she--has their face-paint in order, then you know that things are going well, and that you’re in good hands.”

“Kadaman teach you that?”

Avad froze.

“Sorry,” Ersa said. “I know it’s still raw.”

He put the fan down and leaned on the counter, lowering his head. Damn this perfect looking-glass--there was nowhere in this tiny room he could turn where she couldn’t see the expression on his face. 

“For what it’s worth? He’d be proud a’you, seein’ how far you’ve come. Ain’t even been a week yet, but you've been doin’ good work, gettin’ the troops to like you.”

Avad stared at his trembling hands, struggling internally to make it _stop._ To make _everything_ stop.

“And you got your face-paint in order and everythin’.”

He seized the distraction and _focused_ on it, and his hands were steady again.

“Is it actually in order?” Avad asked, looking up to check his reflection. “How do I look?”

“Like a good Carja commander,” Ersa said.

The prince smiled. It was good to know he could fake it well, at least.

“Why’d you pick that pattern anyway?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I just like the way it makes me look.”

“It makes you look kinda girly,” Ersa admitted. “To us Oseram, I mean.”

“I’m ‘kind of girly’ by Carja standards as well,” the prince said, packing away his kit. He decided to skip the sealing powder--that would be harder to come by in the Claim, so he’d better save it. “Too much reading, not enough machine-hunting.”

“Eh,” Ersa said behind him. He could hear her shrug. “I guess it suits you, then.”

“I suppose it does,” Avad agreed, packing up his travel bag. He turned to face her. “Thank you for allowing me the use of your room.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Would you mind terribly if I came in here every morning?” he asked apprehensively. “It's not _necessary_ , but, well.” He gestured to the looking glass. “I suppose I’m a bit spoiled by the artifacts in the palace. I can’t paint my face half as quickly with a modern looking-glass. Perhaps just occasionally?”

“Every mornin’s fine,” Ersa said. “Gotta keep you lookin’ pretty, else it’d be bad for my morale.”

“Well, if it’s for my _captain’s_ morale, I suppose I have no choice,” the prince said dryly.

Ersa barked a laugh, then shook her head. “I still don’t get why you ain’t madder about that.”

“What, about you calling me ‘pretty boy’ all the time?” Avad asked, tucking the bag under his arm and turning to leave. “I’ve decided to take it as a compliment out of pure spite. You only do it to make fun of me, after all.”

He felt her eyes following him. “Guilty.”

Avad paused with his hand on the door. He couldn’t be certain without looking at her, but that _sounded_ like a lie. And if she wasn’t calling him pretty simply to make fun of him...

_Ba-thump._

“See you at breakfast, Avad,” said the Oseram warrior.

_Don’t be foolish._

The Carja prince pulled open the door. “See you then.”

\---

That day was the first time Avad had been bored since he’d gone machine hunting with Ahsis a lifetime ago. Ersa had decided to see what Carja notions his honor guard had to offer her. She’d already figured out which of his guard specialized in what, and spent the morning in meetings between one of them at a time and whichever Vanguard officers she deemed relevant.

Avad sat in on them because he was the freebooters’ patron and a prince, but he was next to useless and it showed. He had prepared for the liberation of the Sundom by studying theology, law, and what little he could learn of the other tribes--everything a prince would need to convince the Carja that his father was no longer the Speaker of the Sun, put his father’s butchers on trial, and negotiate for peace with the other tribes. He’d gotten some general advice on military leadership from his--from accomplished military leaders, but he’d left learning how to _run_ an army to his honor guard.

Avad had once tried to learn from books, but he’d been told repeatedly that the only real way to learn was through practical experience, which was impossible for him to get in the Sundom while trying to avoid gaining too much favor with his father. But now that he was here in the Claim, the prince acutely regretted his ignorance. He asked a few questions early in the day, but the tone of the answers he got told him they were beginner questions with obvious answers, so he decided to be silent and let the experts handle things. He found that following the discussions without asking for clarification was impossible, but he couldn’t let himself be caught daydreaming, nor could he simply leave. Whenever someone directed a question to him, he deferred to Ersa or whichever of his guard was there, and eventually they stopped asking him anything at all.

“Today was a _disaster,_ ” Avad lamented later that night. He was in Ersa’s room with a fresh change of clothes in his arms, stalling to whine at her before passing through to the water closet to bathe before bed.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said with a shrug. She was sitting at her desk, going through her notes from the day using some kind of Oseram stylus that needed no ink well.

“How could that have gone _worse?_ I sat there all day like a slack-jawed yokel!”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you Carja think us Oseram are _all_ slack-jawed yokels?”

The prince glared. “ _Everyone_ not from Meridian is a yokel.”

“Well, you don’t gotta be _rude_ about it.”

Avad winced. “My apologies, that jest was in poor taste.”

Ersa rolled her eyes and turned back to her notes. “I ain’t _insulted_ or nothin', I just meant that you’re gettin’ too worked up about it, is all. You _really_ coulda been worse.”

“And how, pray tell, could I have managed _that?_ ”

“You coulda pretended like you knew everythin’ even after you realized you didn’t,” she said. “You coulda made everyone stop and explain every little thing instead of lettin’ us get work done. You coulda insisted that the Carja way of doin’ things was better just ‘cause it was Carja.”

“I still didn’t _contribute._ ”

“And it woulda been better if you did,” Ersa agreed, “but that don’t discount the fact that you weren’t disrespectful, and neither were your boys. Everybody saw you makin’ nice yesterday, but that coulda been you just fakin’ it for the troops. But you were way outta your depth all day today, and you didn’t lash out or try to run or nothin’. You showed that you _trust_ the people workin’ for you, _and_ that your boys know how to play nice, too. None of you think you’re better than us, even though you’re Carja, and we’re used to _all_ Carja think they’re better than everybody else. _That’s_ what my officers are gonna remember about today, and what they’ll be tellin’ the troops.”

Avad blinked at her, frustration at himself evaporating in the face of her honesty. “Is that truly how they’ll see it?”

“Pretty much,” she shrugged. “They’ll be sayin’ ‘that Carja boy don’t know his ass from a hammer, but at least he _knows_ he don’t know.’ It’s better to work for a dumbass who knows he's a dumbass than a dumbass who thinks he’s a genius--we’ve been there, we _know._ Ain’t no way everybody’ll love ya, since you’re Carja, but after today a lot more of ‘em will _like_ ya.”

The prince tilted his head considering her. “I did not anticipate there being so much politics involved in running an army, least of all an _Oseram_ army.”

“Politics ain’t just for you civilized southern types,” Ersa said, tapping her stylus idly against a leaf of parchment. “I’d say somethin’ about you never seein’ an Ealdorman tryna get elected, but that’s basically what I got you doin’ now.”

“You’re… running an election campaign for me?” he asked dubiously.

“Pretty much. Probably the politest one the Claim’s ever seen, since you ain’t got an opponent competin’ for your position. Speakin’ of which--” She dug through the leaves of parchment on her desk and pulled one out, setting it aside. “Don’t leave without this. We gotta update our recruitment posters, let people know that we’re fixin’ to end this shitshow for good. I want you to look it over before we send it to the printin’ press.”

Avad leaned against the counter and smiled fondly at her.

“What?” she demanded.

“You are going to be _fantastic_ in my court.”

She jabbed her stylus at him. “ _Do not_ try to make me marry some Carja high-blood.”

“That won’t be necessary, I can just give _you_ a noble title.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that either.”

Avad grinned. “Ersa Khane Vanguardswoman, Captain of the Sun-King’s Vanguard.”

“ _Stop it._ ”

“Liberator of Meridian, Hero of the Sundom.”

“Fire and _spit,_ pretty boy,” Ersa said and jabbed a finger at the door to the water closet. “Would you _shut the fuck up_ and go get _naked and wet_ so I can get some fuckin’ _work_ done?”

The prince gave her his most graceful, sweeping bow. “As my captain commands.”

“Damn _right_ as I command,” she grumbled as the prince retreated to bathe in peace. “Oh--hey, pretty boy!” Ersa called before he could shut the door behind him.

He poked his head back out. “Yes?”

She leaned back in her chair, twirling the stylus lazily between her fingers.. “Just so you know… the pipes carry sound _real_ well, ‘specially down to the other water closet and the kitchen. So maybe hold off on screamin’ my name while you’re in there.”

Avad’s face burst into flames. “I wasn’t--I would _never_ \--”

She grinned at him wickedly. “Aw, am I not pretty enough for you, Avad?”

The prince slammed the door before he could say something foolish. He could hear the faint sound of Ersa laughing at him on the other side.

The room he was in was tiny. There was _maybe_ a five foot square of free floor space. On one side were capped off pipe fittings, where an Oseram-style bathtub had once been attached. On the other side was a bench and the water closet itself--a section of floor that was screened off with sliding metal panels, with a drain in the floor and a pipe fitted with a broad, hole-filled head hanging from the ceiling. On the wall were attached two decorative cogs--one painted orange for molten metal, the other left silver for cold steel.

Avad carefully reached only his arm in and turned the orange cog and snatched it back as the water started flowing. It would take a few minutes for the water to go from freezing to even lukewarm, even with the blaze-powered heater. He undressed and laid out his clothes on the bench while he waited.

That turned out to be a foolish decision. The tiny room was along the exterior wall, and the floor was _cold._ He shivered and bounced on his toes, trying to touch as little of the floor as possible.

He should have brought something to _do_ while he waited. He glanced at the door. Ersa had wanted him to double check that recruitment poster, maybe he could look at it now while he waited?

The prince’s hand was on the latch when he realized he was about to open the door to _Ersa’s bedroom_ while _naked and cold,_ asking for a _distraction._

Avad turned on his heel and stepped under the flow of icy water before he started thinking about the other thing he _wasn’t thinking about._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My finger slipped and I wrote an “I need a cold shower” scene. Like, once I decided that the shower was gonna be through Ersa’s room I told myself that I would not be doing this, but then I let them talk and look at what they made me do. How dare they.
> 
> You know, I really don’t care about make-up at all, but I would totally watch Avad’s make-up tutorial Youtube channel just to see his pretty face. Related to that; the official guide makes a note that Ersa is attracted to Avad because he’s feminine, and that Avad is attracted to Ersa because she’s masculine, so I’m not even inventing that aspect of their relationship.
> 
> So Khane is apparently a noble title, and it’s based on one that exists IRL. It doesn’t seem like it’s the only type of noble title in the Sundom--the datapoint “The Derangement” refers to both “lords and ladies of the Sun-Court, [and] honored Khanes” so my assumption is that the lords and ladies are offshoots of the Radiant Line, while Khane is a noble title given as a reward. In the comic, Talanah Khane Padish mentions that her family earned her title while another had bought theirs. Also, the Lodge hunters who died in the Massacre were all Khanes, and since that was well before Avad’s edict, we know they were all nobility.
> 
> Next chapters will have a little more action, little less world-building, in case you've been bored or something. Please comment if you're still enjoying he ride!


	15. Draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. This fucking chapter is why I had to delay the update schedule, because it was kicking my ass. Well, this and the next one, because at first they were one chapter, but then it just got SO GODDAMN LONG that I had to find a place to split it.
> 
> AAAAND I've been having... not the best mental health time recently. As of posting this, I only have one more chapter ready to go. So the current scene is complete, but that's it for the moment. It looks like I might be forced to take a hiatus after all. If you wanna make sure you don't miss it, subscribe to the story to get an email whenever a new chapter goes live.
> 
> I have like, an extra tow and a half chapters done before I ran into a serious plot snag. I got it ironed out, but I gotta completely redo chapter 17. Hopefully I'll be able to get it done soon so I don't have to pause the story, but I don't wanna make an empty promise.

The next day Ersa kicked Avad out of the manor with Erend to observe morning drills, even though there was _frost_ on the ground. Oseram military doctrine was focused on the use of warhammers and slings, but Ersa had a few specialized regiments who were trained in the art of Carja-style polearms. Avad recognized the forms as the same ones the kestrels used--he’d observed them for Ersa often enough, during her short stay in Sunfall.

After lunch he and Erend returned to find that most of the troops had disbursed from the practice field, and the remainder had formed a large ring where four separate pairs of their number squared off. Each time one of them landed a blow, they left an orange smear on their opponent.

“What are their weapons?” Avad asked, craning his neck to see past the watching troops. One of them spotted him and Erend and motioned for his fellows to make room for them, and the prince murmured his thanks.

“Dummy hammers,” Erend told him, and gestured to one side of the ring. There was a barrel bristling with warhammer shafts, and next to it, a bench with a few buckets sitting on it. “The heads are made of burlap, we coat them in powder to keep track of hits. Standard rules are three hits in a row or first to five and you win, loser switches out.”

“I see,” Avad said. He glanced at Erend. “Could you do me a favor, lieutenant?”

“Yeah?”

“Allow me to watch a few matches before you throw me in there, please. I’m a bit out of practice.”

Erend grinned. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Ersa _did_ tell me that she was running a political campaign,” Avad said, watching the troops spar. It was different than watching a machine-hunt or a fight in the Sun-Ring--these combatants were not fighting for survival. They were holding back the force of their blows, and thus holding back their true nature. He could see their style, though, all momentum and weight and strength. They crashed into their opponents and trusted that their might would be stronger. When it was Oseram steel against anything else, it usually was. The dummy hammers left a lot to be desired in those terms, but they clearly had _some_ heft behind them.

After a few matches Avad spotted movement on the opposite side of the ring. A group of Bladewives had shown up to watch and the other troops gave them a wide berth.

“Are they to be my opponents?” the prince asked. It made sense; his father favored a sword--the very sword Avad now wore on his hip, in fact. The Bladewives’ straight swords were different from the scimitars favored by the Radiant Line, but they were the closest he’d get in the Claim to an appropriate sparring partner.

“Who?” Erend asked, following his gaze. “Nah, just the freebooters for you.”

“They have my sparring weapon, then?” Avad asked, craning his neck to see. The women were standing clustered together, and the only weapons he could see appeared to be live steel.

“Not them,” Erend said, raising his hand to wave at someone off to the side. Petra was approaching them, cutting across the field towards them as one of the pairs of fighters retired for the day.

“Afternoon, boys,” the smith greeted.

“Petra,” Avad nodded to her. “I haven’t seen you about since your demonstration.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said, and held up a very familiar-looking sword.

Avad blinked. “Is that for me?”

“You see anyone else here using a curved blade?” Petra asked, handing it over. The sharp edge was replaced by a long burlap tube, and the coloring of the metal was slightly off, but the balance was almost identical to the sword he’d left behind in the Sundom. Avad was positive they’d be an even closer match to the one he now wore on his hip, that Petra had spent less than five minutes examining.

“ _Thank you,_ Petra,” the prince said sincerely. “This is... marvelous.”

“Only the best to practice patricide with,” Petra quipped.

Avad ducked his head, abashed. Of course this wasn’t a friendly gesture, this was a _necessity._ If the freebooters didn’t ensure he had everything he needed to prepare to face his father in a duel, this entire endeavor would be for nothing.

“I appreciate all the work that must have gone into this,” Avad said. “Though I suppose this also means I won’t have an excuse if I don’t perform well while sparring.”

“Yup,” said Erend with a grin.

Avad raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be trying to make me look _more_ competent?”

Erend shrugged. “I’m supposed to toss you in the ring and only let you out if it looks like you’re about to cry. Since you’ve never been serious about swordsmanship before, Ersa said the best we can hope for right now is to make you look too stubborn to quit.”

“... It’s good to know the captain has such faith in me.”

“She calls it like she sees it.”

“This is certainly going to be... _interesting._ ” Avad sighed. “We’d best get started, then.”

“Go powder your weapon,” Erend told him, nodding to the training arsenal. He walked onto the field and whistled sharply. “Alright everybody, break it up! Prince Avad’s starting his sword training today, and we gotta find him a good sparring partner. No blows to the face and don’t do anything permanent. Any volunteers?”

A chuckle rolled through the troops. Avad supposed he couldn’t blame them; he was bundled up in his cloak and scarf while the Oseram remained unbothered by the cold, and was currently struggling to figure out how to coat the edge of his long practice blade in powder that was held in a short bucket. He looked more than a little ridiculous.

“You,” Erend said, picking one of the freebooters. “Grab a weapon.”

A soldier approached and grabbed a dummy hammer from the barrel next to Avad and easily dipped each end into the bucket of orange powder.

“You want some help with that?” he asked good-naturedly, nodding to Avad’s still-clean sword.

“If you would be so kind,” he said, frowning in consternation.

The man took the blade, stuck it point-first in a bucket, scooped up some powder in his hand and coated the edge.

Avad’s shoulders slumped as he accepted the blade. “That was… very obvious, thank you.”

The other man grinned. “You wanna get powder on that cloak?”

“I suppose I don’t,” Avad admitted. He removed his cloak and untied the sword from his belt, and handed them over to his honor guard. The prince shuddered and rubbed his arms. By the Sun, it was _cold._ He wrapped his scarf around his head and elected to keep his mittens on.

“Ready?”

“Do I _look_ ready?” the prince asked, voice muffled by his scarf.

The man laughed as they walked towards the center of the field. All eyes were on them, as they would be the only pair fighting. Avad wondered if the watching troops were placing bets, but dismissed the thought as nonsense. Who here would bet on the pampered prince against a seasoned soldier?

“It’s your first match of the day,” his sparring partner said, “so I’ll go easy on you.”

“You probably shouldn’t, all things considered.”

“We’ll see how you do,” he said, settling into a fighting stance.

Avad held his sword horizontally in front of him, one hand braced on the flat edge, and bowed. The soldier raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just a formality,” the prince explained. He held his left hand at his hip in an open C shape, and slid his blade into the space between his thumb and fingers as though it were a sheathe.

The other man shrugged again and mimicked the gesture before settling back into his stance. “Is that a Carja custom? Bowing before a fight?”

“No.” Avad planted his feet wide and bent at the knees. He kept his sword at his hip. “It’s an Utaru custom.”

“ _Utaru?_ ” the man asked with a guffaw.

The prince nodded. “My swordmaster was Utaru.”

“You’re telling me those farmers have _swordmasters?_ ” Everyone knew that the Utaru were pacifists to a fault. Instead of fending off would-be invaders with armies, they were known to try appeasing them with offers of trade and tribute--even the brutal Tenakth, who stole children and ate the flesh of their fallen foes. Allegedly.

“Only a few,” Avad said.

“Well alright then.” The soldier shook his head in disbelief. “You gonna draw that blade?”

“Only when I need to,” the prince said. “But I am ready to begin, if that’s what you were asking.”

“Okay,” he said dubiously. They stared at each other for a moment, the Oseram with his hammer held high, and the shivering Carja prince with his sword still sheathed. If anyone _had_ placed a bet on Avad getting even a single hit in, they must be regretting it.

The soldier stepped forward in a feint, but Avad didn’t react. He swung, wide and predictable, and Avad shuffled back and away. Another easy swing, another sidestep. The prince didn’t move either of his hands.

“I realize that you’re trying to be helpful,” Avad told him, “and I do appreciate that, very much. But you should probably _try_ to hit me.”

The soldier shrugged, shifted his grip, and swung again. He was still holding back, more than was typical for sparring, but now he was finally committed to the blow. Avad ducked under the arc of it and his blunted blade licked out, connecting with the back of the other man’s hand at the same instant his hammer would have connected with Avad’s head, had he not moved. The soldier was wearing thick gloves, but the blow was both painful and surprising enough for him to lose his grip. The prince spun out of the way, resheathing his sword. The soldier briefly dropped the weapon before fumbling it back into his hands and turning to face his opponent.

They stared at each other again.

“Uh--first hit to Avad!” called Erend from the sidelines.

The soldier narrowed his eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

The prince shrugged. “There is a time and a place for manners. This is neither.”

“You almost broke my fucking _hand,_ ” he complained, sounding annoyed. At least he didn’t sound _angry._

Avad winced guiltily. “My apologies. I’m used to training weapons made of wood. I won’t aim for them again.”

“You do that,” the soldier said warningly. He cocked his head. “You gonna keep that thing sheathed the whole time?”

“As I said, I only draw it when I need to.”

“And if you’re slower than the other guy?”

Avad tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Well, I suppose that’s a possi--”

The soldier lunged, aiming for his blind spot, as expected. Avad rolled out of the way, dodged a second swing, and left an orange streak across the soldier’s back before backing away and resuming his stance.

“--bility,” the prince finished. “Less so when my opponent is weighed down by so much steel.”

“Second hit to Avad!” called Erend, openly grinning. “Match point!” The rest of the troops were split between shock and amusement.

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch,” the other man said, laughing. Thank the Sun he was sparring an Oseram--showing up a Carja like this would have made them an enemy for life, royal blood or not.

“As long as you’re not talking about my mother, I can only disagree with the ‘cocky’ part.”

“Oh really?” the soldier asked, circling him. Avad matched his pace. “You could’ve gotten your second hit in when I dropped my weapon, but you decided to show off instead. _And_ you’re not even wearing belly armor.”

“The only person I plan to strike unarmed is my father,” Avad said. “And as for armor, my swordsmanship relies on speed and flexibility. If I decided to start wearing armor now I would have to relearn everything from the beginning.”

He shook his head. “You’re gonna wind up disemboweled one day.”

“Not by a man with a blunt weapon who can’t even hit me.”

The soldier snorted and came at him again. He pretended to swing wildly, and Avad feinted, pretending to fall for it. The prince rolled under his real attack and left a streak of orange across the back of the soldier’s knee.

“And Avad wins clean!” Erend called, laughing over the noise of the crowd.

“You _asshole,_ ” the soldier said again, chuckling. Avad bowed, and the soldier returned the gesture before leading him back to the weapon barrel and powder buckets.

“I would say I’m sorry, but I would be lying,” Avad said awkwardly. “So I suppose the proper thing to say is... ‘thank you’?”

“What, for getting my ass kicked in front of the whole regiment?”

“…. Yes?” the prince said in a small voice.

“In that case, you’re welcome,” the other man said dryly.

“Who wants the next crack at the prince?” Erend challenged the crowd.

“You’re in for it now,” the soldier said with a grin as the other troops started bickering over who would be the first to show the Carja prince the _real_ might of Oseram steel.

“I am well aware,” Avad said grimly. He was going to be covered from head to toe in powder and bruises before the day was out.

“Shoulda thought of that before pulling that hustle,” the soldier guffawed. 

“I _did_ think of that,” Avad told him. “But then I decided a good first impression of my swordsmanship was more important than my dignity.”

“You still think that?”

“... Ask me again in an hour, if I’m still alive.”

The soldier chuckled and returned his practice weapon to the barrel. He walked off, shaking out his hand and muttering something that sounded like “fucking _Utaru_ ” under his breath.

Over the next hour, the soldier's sentiments were echoed by more than a few of his comrades. The freebooters were professionals with years of experience fighting on a battlefield, but Avad had over a decade of personal training in a style they’d never even heard of before that was meant for one-on-one duels. An hour in, he’d taken more than a few hits, but had not lost a single match.

The crowd of watching Oseram had grown since he’d started sparring, though he noticed that the Bladewives were still given a wide berth. The freebooters were eager to catch a glimpse of the Carja prince’s strange swordsmanship and cheer and jeer at him in equal measure. Despite the rather colorful language, it was all in good fun--anyone who held real resentment knew better than to show it in front of their lieutenant. Erend himself was having _great_ fun, egging on his tribesmen and mocking them if they refused to fight the Carja prince.

Avad was reapplying powder to his weapon (he’d removed the scarf and mittens, and was becoming well acquainted with why they called his shirt a ‘sweater’) when he finally heard the voice he’d been waiting for since the moment he realized he’d be sparring today.

“What the _fuck,_ pretty boy?”

Avad grinned as he shook the excess powder off his blade. “Is there a problem, Ersa?”

“Yeah there’s a fuckin’ _problem,_ ” Ersa growled. She stood with her fists on her hips, scowling. “You lied right to my goddamn _face._ ”

“And when do you think I did that?”

“When you told me that you didn’t know how to fuckin’ fight, back in Sunfall.”

“I said no such thing. What I said was that I don’t _like_ machine-hunting, because I find it boring.”

She raised her eyebrows, affronted. “Oh, is machine-huntin’s too _easy_ for the prince?”

“I did not say it was _easy,_ ” Avad clarified. “It is difficult and dangerous-- _obviously_ \--but it _is_ boring. Machines are simple-minded; you can always tell what they’re going to do next, if you’re paying attention, though you won’t always have time to _do_ anything about it. People are more complex, and so present an actual challenge to predict.”

Ersa gave him a flat look as she crossed her arms. “Pretty sure you _also_ said you were a shit fighter.”

“I’m a poor _warrior,_ ” he clarified. “My swordsmanship isn’t suited for a battlefield, since I have to devote all my attention to one opponent at a time. I could scarcely afford to be a poor _fighter_ ; my father would have killed me himself years ago if I was _that_ much of a disappointment.”

“You left me with a very clear _implication,_ ” she growled.

“‘In the Sun’s light, we speak only in truth,’” the prince quoted. “Nothing I _said_ was false. Therefore, I did not lie.”

Ersa narrowed her eyes. “It’s all fuckin’ semantics with you, isn’t it?”

“It is plainly seen,” the prince said with a serene smile.

“It’s plainly seen that you’re a _deceptive little shit,_ ” she said, glaring. She jabbed her finger toward the field. “Go get ready for your next opponent.”

“Yes, captain,” said Avad, giving her his most regal nod just to watch her eye twitch. As he turned to follow her command he couldn’t help but smirk. He’d spent ten years trying to look as incompetant and non-threatening as he could safely get away with to everyone in the Sun-Court, not that they had taken the crybaby prince seriously before anyway. Being able to openly exceed expectations, especially _Ersa’s,_ was a uniquely satisfying experience.

As he watched, a ripple rolled through the crowd as the freebooters stood up straighter, eyes bright and grinning at something behind him.

The smirk slid off Avad’s face. He turned, already knowing exactly what he was going to see.

Ersa was smirking now as she approached him, walking with the same air of total confidence and command that she had the first time he’d laid eyes on her, two years ago in the Sun-Ring. But her hands were free now and she tossed the practice hammer from one hand to another, twirling it over her hand and back into her palm with a casual flick of her wrist. With how unbalanced and unwieldy their soft heads made them, that little trick took a _great_ degree of skill to pull off. It was… impressive.

_Ba-thump._

“You ready, pretty boy?” Ersa asked over the cheers of the watching crowd.

_Oh, no._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was figuring out how Avad would fight, I thought about how it would be represented in-game. Avad’s skill trees would be less stealth-based than Aloy’s, and instead have a counter attack mechanic. Like, you’d lock onto an enemy, hold the dodge button, then release at just the right time, doing the same level of damage as one of Aloy’s stealth kills. He'd probably also do a lot more with concentration (the slow-mo effect). Ersa would have the ability to block and also some sort of super armor mode where she wouldn’t get flinched or flung around by damage, and generally be an unstoppable force of destruction instead of a nimble one like Aloy is.
> 
> As a side note, I don’t have the Oseram using wooden practice weapons because they use all their wood making charcoal. This is sort of referenced in the game--the Oseram tend to deforest areas around their settlements, and you can see charcoal burners in varying stages near them as well. Metal, meanwhile is SUPER easy to come across thanks to the machines. You don't even have to mine it!


	16. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm sorry guys, I have no excuse. This chapter has been written and ready to go for like a month, but my mental health has taken a serious nosedive recently, hence the delay. Also, THIS chapter is the main reason I started delaying my update schedule in the first place.... and this is still as far as I've gotten so far. No idea when my brain will be fit enough to pick up this fic again. I have an outline not just for THIS story but also like 2 sequels (taking place during and after HZD) that I do sincerely want to get written and share with you all. I'll want to have a few chapters written as a buffer before I start posting again, which means even if I start right this second, it's gonna be a while before this gets updated.
> 
> So, with that in mind, I'd recommend that you subscribe to either this fic, the series I've made for it, or myself, just to make sure you don't miss it when I do get around to updating this again.

“You ready, pretty boy?” Ersa asked.

“Uh,” Avad said eloquently, eyes glued to her hand.

Her eyes glittered mischievously. “I am _disappointed_ in you louts,” she said to the crowd. “You’re supposed to be playin’ host to a prince, then I come here and find out he’s _bored._ ” Ersa spun the hammer around her hand again, more slowly this time. Doing it slowly was somehow even _more_ impressive. Not to mention _distracting._

Avad gulped.

She grinned. “So I guess I’d best step up and give him a _real_ Oseram welcome. What do you all think?”

The freebooters roared their approval.

“We’re doin’ three in a row for the win,” she continued. “None of this five hit bullshit. Gotta see how long our little prince here can last.”

The gathered Oseram whooped and laughed. Avad’s face flushed.

“Ersa, this is a _terrible_ idea,” he hissed. “Whoever loses is going to look _incompetant._ Neither of us can afford that.”

She snorted. “Don’t worry, pretty boy. My freebooter’s ain’t gonna forget your little hustle after I kick your ass.”

Damn his pride for making him _show off._ And damn _hers_ for making her not _think this through._

“We can’t be seen _fighting,_ ” Avad said, trying a different tack. “If we want to keep the Vanguard together, they need to see that we’re _equals._ If one of us is made to look less capable than the other _in public,_ your soldiers start thinking that we don't trust each other, and this whole endeavor will fall apart. We can't have _anyone_ doubting that we're _friends!_ " If anyone started to think that the Carja prince had reservations about his Oseram Vanguard captain, or that said captain didn’t have faith in the man she was helping to become the next Sun-King….

“Maybe that’s how it is with the Carja, but you bought yourself an _Oseram_ Vanguard. We fight all the fuckin’ time, _especially_ with our friends.” She shrugged. “‘Sides, you ain’t the type to get sore over losin’ to a woman, so we ain’t gotta worry about _that._ ”

He made a noise of frustration. “You know, you could at least acknowledge the fact that your victory isn’t _preordained._ ”

“Aw, ain’t you fuckin’ _adorable,_ ” Ersa said with a grin. “Now if you’re done bitchin’, get to bowin’.”

Avad rolled his eyes and bowed, giving in to the inevitable. Ersa saluted with her hammer, because of _course_ she would refuse to bow to _anyone,_ even as a courtesy. In spite of his reservations he had to stifle a laugh as he settled into his fighting stance. That stubborn pride was precisely why he _liked_ her so much.

“So,” Ersa said casually. “Your teacher was Utaru, huh?”

Avad nodded, watching her closely. “He was a slave working in the Maizelands, from before the Red Raids.”

“How’d he go from bein’ a farm slave to teachin’ a Carja prince how to fight?”

Before he could answer, Ersa swung. He ducked under the blow and countered, but missed hitting her by an inch. She stepped into his space before he could recover, marking him on the shoulder before backing away, parrying his reflexive blow as she retreated.

“ _First hit to Ersa!_ ” Erend called from the sidelines.

She cocked her head to the side. “Your teacher?” she prompted.

Avad shook his head to clear it. He was fighting _Ersa,_ he had to _focus._

“He was seen practicing his form,” he said, “but the slave masters thought he was performing some Utaru dance.” And before she could ask _who_ exactly first discovered him, he added, “I figured he’d make a better teacher than Helis.”

Ersa lunged at him. Avad’s sword licked out as he dodged backwards, but his blow connected with the handle of her hammer instead of her arm. She knocked his blade to the side and left a streak of powder on his forearm on the backswing.

“ _Second hit to Ersa, one more for a clean win!_ ” Erend announced. The freebooters cheered.

“You were taught by _Helis?_ ” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Avad tried to quell his surprise. She had _not_ been that fast when he watched her _fight for her life_ in the Sun-Ring. But that _was_ two years ago, naturally she had only improved since then.

“Only at first, and not very well,” the prince said, eyeing her carefully. “I kept breaking my arm during practice, and you can’t learn to use a sword whilst wearing a cast.”

Ersa growled suddenly and attacked, forcing Avad to dodge back and away from a flurry of swings. He swung and missed, but then managed to jab her in the hip and leap away.

“ _One to Avad!_ ”

“How _old_ were you?” Ersa asked through gritted teeth.

“I started studying with my swordmaster when I was ten,” Avad explained. “So I’ve been practicing this style for about twelve years now.”

“… Right,” she said, eyes narrowed. “And learnin’ it involved less _broken fuckin' bones,_ I take it?”

“Quite. Utaru swordsmanship is as much a philosophy as it is a technique. It suits my nature much better than any Carja style.”

She glared, but Avad had the feeling that she wasn’t quite glaring at _him._ “So you just _decided_ the Carja way was too aggressive for you?” Ersa asked finally.

He nodded. “I was too hesitant, and not putting my full force behind my strikes. I do much better with a more reactive style.”

She frowned, considering. “Well, fightin’s more about usin’ your brain than anythin’ else, so it’s good you found a way to get your head in the game. _But--_ ”

Ersa advanced, forcing him to move backwards. He ducked under a mighty two-handed blow and lashed out at her feet as he rolled around her. Just as his practice blade connected with the bottom of her boot she stamped down on it, pinning it--and him--in place. Avad was staring in shock when her hammer smacked him lightly upside the head, getting powder in his hair.

“--only reactin’ means you sacrifice the initiative,” she finished, lifting her foot. If this had been a real fight with live steel, she’d have lost that foot and not been able to counter, at least not as effectively. But if it _had_ been a real fight, she would have jumped over his swing instead. Because she hadn’t _reacted_ to his attack, she _predicted_ it. Not just that he’d swing, but that he’d aim for her feet and not her legs or knees.

Avad was starting to think that maybe Ersa had been right about his chances against her.

_Ba-thump._

“Once someone’s tryna kill you,” she continued, “it’s too late for Utaru pacifist bullshit.”

“ _That was two to Avad, then one to Ersa!_ ” Erend shouted over the whooping and hollering crowd.

“W-well,” Avad said, standing to his feet and brushing powder from his hair. “The Utaru aren’t _truly_ pacifists, they simply see bloodshed as a last resort. If a fight must end in death, so be it, but one should _always_ be willing to end the conflict peacefully.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “And that’s why you keep your weapon sheathed the whole fuckin’ time?”

Avad settled into his fighting stance and nodded. His heart was pounding, and not just from exertion. “Just as you shouldn’t aim an arrow at anything you aren’t willing to kill, you shouldn’t have your weapon drawn if there is even the slightest chance for a peaceful resolution. Avoid the strike, respond to the attack, cease aggression. That is how one fights for peace.”

Ersa eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, absently twirling her hammer, then shrugged. “Well if you’re gonna be _stubborn_ about it, you need to be faster.”

They continued their conversation without words. They traded blows, neither quite managing to get three hits in a row on the other and both collecting powder on their clothing. Avad’s lungs burned with the cold air even as his body overheated under his heavy clothes. Ersa was breathing heavy too, but not like him. The hour he’d spent sparring with the Vanguard didn’t completely explain the difference--those fights had all been short, with him waiting for his opponent to strike before making a quick, decisive counter. Avoid, respond, cease.

But now against Ersa, he was the one forced to spend more effort. She advanced on him, forcing him to retreat and change position around her, searching for an opening and finding none or worse, falling for a feint and getting marked for his trouble. He got a few genuinely good hits in, but as the fight went on, he struggled more and more to keep up with her. He simply wasn’t used to being this active for this long, and his sword arm was starting to slow.

For all the trouble he was having reading her movements, he could still read Ersa’s mood just fine; she was having _fun._ Avad should have found that infuriating, but it was satisfying, to know he could give her a challenge, and to see her up close in her element. It was like a court dance, with Ersa leading them around the arena, spinning the prince around her in turn.

It began to dawn on Avad that Ersa was holding back far more than was necessary for sparring. The fight wasn’t still going because they were evenly matched, it was still going because _she wanted it to._ When she was at two hits, she gave him a real opening to end her streak. When he was at two, she went on an overwhelming offensive until she got her own mark in.

Ersa had said, before they started, that her goal was to see how long he could last. He wasn’t actually challenging her at all. For the entire fight, she had been in complete control. Not just of her own movements, but of his as well.

_Ba-thump._

Avad saw the decision to end the match in the shifting of her shoulders as she parried yet another strike. She planted her hammer on the ground and swung her whole body on the pivot, kicking the back of his knee hard enough to sweep his leg out from under him. As his back hit the ground he _remembered_ \--he’d seen her do this in the Sun-Ring, which meant her next move was--

Avad planted the heels of his hands in the dirt and _pushed,_ sliding back and up into a sitting position. As she swung downwards his knees sprang apart, and the head of the dummy hammer missed him completely, hitting the ground so close to his groin that the cloud of orange powder kicked up by the impact stained his trousers.

They both froze, and stared at each other.

Then Ersa burst out laughing.

“ _Three to Ersa for the win!_ ” Erend announced, and the crowd exploded.

“Careful with those royal jewels, Avad,” she teased with a wicked grin, standing tall and resting her weapon on her shoulder.

Avad’s knees snapped together and his face burned. He glared up at Ersa as he tried to catch his breath. “I yield.”

“Fuck _yield._ ” she said, pulling him to his feet. “I got my powder on you, that makes three hits in a row.”

The prince looked down at himself. The slight orange tinge on the inseam of his trousers was more noticeable now that he was standing up. “But you didn’t _actually_ hit me.”

“You tryna call my victory into question?” she asked.

“Hardly,” he said dryly, looking her up and down. It had been one thing, back in the Sundom, to know that Ersa was an accomplished warrior and commander both, but it was quite another to see the proof of it, just now and over the past few days. By the Sun, she was _worth_ the years of nightmares the Sun-Ring had given him. Even without his support, she would have ended the Red Raids sooner or later. She was _magnificent._ “Victory suits you, captain.”

“Damn right it does,” Ersa said, grinning like a Snapmaw.

Then she smacked the Prince of the Dawn’s Rising on the rear with her dummy hammer, making him jump.

“Really, Ersa?” Avad asked, twisting to examine the freshly stained seat of his trousers. “ _Really?_ ”

She smirked as she saluted with her practice weapon. “Can’t have you sayin’ I won ‘cause of _semantics._ ”

“You are such a _child,_ ” he said with a scowl.

Ersa waggled her eyebrows at him. “Ain’t nothin’ _childish_ about my line of thinkin’.”

The prince made himself glare. “I’ve been led to believe that your line of thinking _results_ in children.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Now you’re just bein’ fuckin’ _vulgar._ ”

“My sincerest apologies,” he deadpanned. “I shall endeavor to comport myself with more decorum from now on.”

“You do that, pretty boy. Now don’t you owe me another bow? Gonna give your tutors fits, forgettin’ all your fancy manners that quickly.”

Avad fought the urge to roll his eyes as he bowed. Ersa returned the gesture with the smuggest salute he’d ever seen in his life.

Erend jogged over to them. “He done for the day?” he asked his sister. The cheers of the gathered freebooters were giving way to slightly less thunderous chatter, but the prince figured that they’d easily pick up again at the slightest hint of a rematch.

She shrugged. “I could go another round. Avad?”

“If you make an example of me again, I'll cry,” he told her flatly.

She smirked at her brother. “He’s done.”

“Gotcha, captain.” Erend banged his fist on his chest in salute and addressed the gathered freebooters. “ _Alright, layabouts! Show’s over!_ ”

“Rematch!” someone protested.

Ersa rolled her eyes and addressed he soldiers. “If you wanna get paid to sit around and look pretty, you gotta at least be prettier than you’re fuckin’ _boss._ And there ain’t a one of you that’s prettier than Avad, so get _back_ to _work._ ”

The freebooters complained, but they obeyed their captain while they did it.

“Back to the tit house, flame-hair?” Ersa asked, leading Avad away from the training grounds, leaving Erend to get the soldiers back in formation.

Avad ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the feel of gritty powder mixed with his own sweat. His entire person was currently more orange than not. “If you’re going to insist that your freebooters do actual work, then I suppose so. I rather _do_ need a shower, don’t I?”

“Don’t fret, you’re still prettier than them.” She looked him up and down. “You need to do laundry, too.”

His shoulders slumped. “... oh.”

Ersa cocked an eyebrow at him. “You can peel potatoes, you can let a buncha soldiers rag on you, you can let a girl beat your ass in public, but washin’ your own pants is over the fuckin’ line?”

“I can do it,” Avad protested, carefully not grimacing. “Well, you’d have to _teach_ me, but I can do it.”

“... You _really_ don’t want to, do you, pretty boy?”

“If that’s what I need to do to convince your freebooters to follow me,” he said, squaring his shoulders, “I’ll do it. It’s a small price to pay.”

“Avad,” she said seriously, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t gotta wash your fuckin’ clothes to get them on your side. _I_ don’t wash my own fuckin’ clothes, I pay a washer woman for that. We can throw your stuff in with mine and Erend’s.”

“Oh thank the _Sun,_ ” the prince said in a rush of relief.

Ersa burst out laughing. “Fire and spit, you got a personal problem with doin’ laundry?”

“Of course I do, it’s _laundry,_ ” Avad complained. “You wear your clothes, you wash them, you wear them again, you wash them _again,_ over and over--it sounds _maddening._ ”

Ersa snorted. “You know, most people gotta cook their own food every single day, too.”

“But then they get to _eat_ it, and then it’s _done._ Even if you can only prepare one dish, you don’t have to cook the same cut of meat _over and over again._ ” The prince scowled. “Laundry is without end, and I want _no part of it._ ”

“Maybe I _should_ make you do it,” Ersa mused. “Get even for lettin’ me think you didn’t know how to use that sword."

“Please don’t,” Avad begged. “Besides, it’s your own fault for not asking me about it before trying to make me put on a show for your _entire army._ ”

Ersa tilted her head, acknowledging his point. “Fair enough.”

“I know you weren’t trying to embarrass me,” Avad continued. “And I know you had no reason to believe that I truly knew how to fight--I worked hard to gain a reputation as a weakling, so I suppose being annoyed by that is unfair of me, and I apologize for that. But… next time you think I’m lacking in some area, could you ask me first? Privately?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” she said. “I ain’t gonna hold you showin’ up my troops against you. And I’m sorry for fuckin’ with ya.”

“I forgive you,” the prince said with an easy shrug. “It was not a bad plan, considering your assumptions.” He couldn’t quite hold back a smile. “And it _did_ make for quite a show, if I do say so myself.”

The captain snorted. “Fuckin’ show-off.”

“I spent _ten years_ pretending I was a useless coward, haven’t I earned the right?”

Ersa rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. The pair walked for a bit in silence, with Avad’s guard trailing them at a respectful distance. They were in the camp proper now. It was mostly empty, since the majority of the troops were still at the training grounds.

“So,” Ersa said, “how surprised _is_ your dad gonna be with your swordsmanship?”

“Hopefully? Very,” Avad said.

“Yeah,” she said skeptically, drawing out the word. “I ain’t about to let your life depend on ‘hopefully.’”

“It doesn’t, at least not entirely,” the prince said. “My father knows that I’m not _completely_ useless in a duel, but once he learned that, he washed his hands of me. I’d already shamed him by taking lessons on swordsmanship from an _Utaru_ of all people, so I didn’t warrant any further consideration.”

“And where is your swordmaster these days?”

“The Royal Maizelands.” Avad glanced at her. “He was buried there, about three years ago now.”

She grimaced. “Your dad?”

“No,” he said. “It was old age, mostly. He was already quite old when he was brought to the Sundom, which was… about five years before he started teaching me, I think. He was still fit and healthy, but then he caught a fever, and never recovered.”

“Bet he’d be happy to see you now.” She grinned. “Kickin’ a bunch of Oseram ass the Utaru way.”

The prince chuckled, then looked at her curiously. “How is it that you’re so much better than the others? In a duel, I mean.” Her freebooters had repeatedly proven themselves capable warriors, but that skillset didn’t transfer perfectly to one-on-one battles any more than his did the other way around.

“Got in a lotta scraps when I was gettin’ started,” Ersa explained. “My first command was under Dervahl, and some of the boys took issue with takin’ orders from a girl. Had to knock more than a few heads in for them to notice that I knew what I was fuckin’ doin’.”

“I hadn’t realized you were once a regular.” He hadn’t realized that women were _allowed_ to serve as Oseram regulars, other than the Bladewives.

“Most freebooters start that way. Some of ‘em wash out, some just get sick of the Ealdormen’s bullshit. I went freebooter once the Raids started, to give Dervahl some flexibility. He gets his salary from the Ealdormen and answers to them, but then he was payin’ me from his own purse, so _I_ answered to _him,_ personally.”

Avad gave her a bemused look. “I’m having a difficult time imagining _you_ answering to anyone.”

Ersa barked a laugh. “Yeah, me too. Dervahl was pretty hands off, he just let me know what he needed doin’, and let me figure out how to get it done. That’s how I like it.”

“What changed?”

She blinked. “Changed?”

“With Dervahl,” Avad said. “The way you talk about him, he sounds like a different person. The man you talk about would be proud of you, but the man I’ve met _resents_ you.”

A look of heartbreak flashed across her face, before she schooled her features into grim determination. “Grief can fuck a person up, he just needs some time to get back to himself. Right now, he’s just…”

She looked into the distance, searching. “I was like a daughter to him, you know? ‘Specially back when I was a kid, when him and his wife thought they were barren. I was too stubborn to let them adopt us, but we were always more than just clansmen and neighbors to each other. Then they finally had their little girl, and then the fuckin’ _kestrels_ showed up and--you know. So now he’s stuck thinkin’ that he failed as a husband and a father, ‘cause he couldn’t keep his family safe. And here’s _my_ stubborn ass still refusin’ to let him keep _me_ safe, and it pisses him off that he might have to watch me get taken. _Again._ ”

Avad frowned. “That doesn’t fit at all.”

She looked sidelong at him. “Don’t fit what?”

“What I’ve seen of him, and of you. He resents having to follow you, and that has nothing to do with being overprotective. It’s not as though you’re foolish enough to lead from the front and put yourself at risk unnecessarily.”

“I kinda _am_ that foolish.” Ersa said with a self-deprecating shrug. “Gotta lead from the front sometimes. Some lines just can’t be allowed to break, and havin’ the boss up your ass is sometimes the only thing keepin’ the troops together.”

“But only when _necessary._ You made a name for yourself rather quickly upon your return to the Claim, and you know how important it is for an army to have a _living_ leader they’re proud to follow, especially one who knows what she’s doing. Dervahl must know by now that he can trust you to make smart decisions about such things. Besides you’re--how old?”

“Just turned thirty,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m an old fuckin’ maid.”

“Yes, you are absolutely _decrepit,_ ” Avad deadpanned. “Even if you were his daughter by blood, you’re a grown woman. You’ve been a soldier and a commander since before the Red Raids started, and a machine hunter long before that. He should trust you, but he doesn’t. And he should be _proud_ of you, but he isn’t. So what’s really going on with him?”

Ersa was quiet for several strides, frowning at her feet. Her long braids bounced against her back with each step.

“I don’t know,” she said at last.

Avad was looking at her when she answered him, which is how he was certain that she had just lied to him.

He watched her for a long moment. “But you can work with him?”

“Yeah,” she said, then smirked. “Don’t worry, pretty boy, I can handle his bullshit just fine for ya. _You_ just focus on makin’ nice with the rest of my army.”

The prince nodded, satisfied. “I trust your judgement, captain.”

They walked a few more steps in silence.

“Thanks,” Ersa said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you agree with Avad about laundry.
> 
> So Utaru swordsmanship is basically pacifism-inspired iaijutsu, but written by someone who only knows about it from anime and never bothered actually researching it. Hey, it’s a fanfic based on a videogame where Japanese culture no longer exists, deal with it.
> 
> I was back and forth for a while on whether Avad’s swordmaster should be a man or a woman. I ultimately decided that it just didn’t make sense for them to be a lady--Avad still thought that it was improper for a woman to fight when he was 10, but mostly I figured that that an Utaru woman teaching his son to fight would have been just a bit too much for Jiran to allow.
> 
> Again, I'm sorry for all the delays. Thank you everyone that's been sticking with me so far. I swear to All-mother that I AM going to finish this fic, I'm just not prepared to say when. If you would like to contribute to my brain's dopamine production, leave some kudos or a comment. Reading your responses is, quite literally, the BEST part of writing and has kept me going this long.
> 
> This work is worth fighting fighting for. I'll be back.
> 
> <3


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